


The Road Onwards

by Arisusan



Series: The Road [2]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Friendship, Gen, filling in the blanks left by canon and semi-canon, i had this all planned out up until a point and this is immediately after that point, implied/mentions of child abuse, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisusan/pseuds/Arisusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisya Barry and Kanda Yuu may have survived their first mission together, but they've got a long way to go before they read the end. Kanda still doesn't understand why Daisya swings constantly between perceptive, oblivious, annoying, and worry-inducing, and Daisya can't wait to start whittling away at the mystery of Kanda, and the stories of the other exorcists. Like he's going to get anywhere with that. Either way, he won't have much trouble with boredom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've sort of been making this up as I go along, but from this point onward it's a lot more improvised than it has been, so forgive me for the drop in quality. I'll probably revisit these chapters sometime, but for now, I'm just keeping it moving. Slowly.
> 
> Side note: there was this kid in grade eight who I shall not name, but he did us the wonderful favour of accidentally hitting the most annoying kid in class right smack dab on the head with a soccer ball, just as he walked past the field where the soccer mod was playing. Other side note: I couldn't resist using Kanda's catchphrase just once in this first chapter.

Daisya wandered through the cafeteria with a stride that made his full soup bowl a miracle.

After weaving through the hordes of finders, he dropped his tray down at a table of young-looking exorcists. There were a couple of girls a year or two older than him — sisters, maybe? One of them looked pretty tired, with big black circles under a pair of equally big eyes, and the other one might have looked the same, if her skin wasn't so bronzed as to hide it. Next to them was a Spanish-looking boy about the same age as the cheery Chinese girl sitting next to Kanda, nose-deep in what looked like a book of jokes. Occasionally, he told one to the tanned girl, who chuckled only for a moment. They were never very good.

The older ones were clustered at the other end of the table. Two girls and a boy were chatting in an insistent, low murmur. Headquarters was a pretty exciting place, but these guys didn't seem to be enjoying it nearly as much as they should have. One of the girls was braiding her blonde hair, the other staring off into space with one pale hand holding a mug and the other under the table, and the dark-skinned boy with braided hair was darning a pair of socks. Boring, boring, boring.

That left Kanda, sitting across from him, and the small girl next to Kanda. The one he'd heard refused to synchronize for a while. She seemed pretty interesting.

"It's way too crowded in here," he muttered though a mouthful of bread, "Isn't there anywhere else to sit?"

"No."

"Too bad. Want to play a game after?"

"No."

Daisya sighed. Even Kanda was being boring, now.

"Aww, come on. I haven't played in ages."

Kanda looked away in exasperation, and rapped the table twice.

"''Twas but a fleeting dream," Daisya muttered, trying out some of the words he'd been reading. Oh, well, at least Kanda'd used more than one way to say 'no.'

"Don't."

As usual, Kanda considered himself clairvoyant. He was right, of course, that Daisya just wanted to use the words he'd learned from the plays Tiedoll had given him, but that was beside the point. He had a right to use fancy words, too. They made stuff more interesting.

He quickly finished up his meal. The stuff here was darn good, even if old Cookie still held a grudge regarding that incident with the cake batter.

"Anyone here want to play some football?" he called, craning his neck to see the end of the table.

He could hear Kanda getting up to leave, for whatever reason. Everyone else seemed to take the same path of ignoring him. The big-eyed girl shot him a tired stare, without any contempt or exasperation to spice it up.

"Come _on_ ," he whined under his breath, turning back to the front.

"What's football?"

The timid girl across the table had leaned forward, and moved sideways into Kanda's spot.

Ah! There was a lone flower or thistle or something in a field of boring grass.

"It's a game. You kick a ball around. You any good at kicking things?"

The girl nodded vigorously.

"I think so."

"Okay. Do you want me to teach you, then?"

She nodded again, this time haltingly. She seemed to have gotten a bit less shy during the weeks he and Kanda were away.

"I guess. My brother says I should do more things with the other exorcists."

Daisya grinned.

"Yeah, he's probably right. If you don't, you'll end up like Kanda."

The girl looked confused, and twisted a strand of her hair around one of her fingers. Her expression looked slightly taken aback, like a kitten's when it can't figure out why it can't catch the sunbeam.

"But Kanda's nice…"

Daisya could have burst out laughing there and then. Kanda? Nice?

"What's your name again, by the way? I think I forgot it."

"I'm Lenalee Lee."

"That's a nice name. A lot of 'lee's' Are you a crybaby?"

The expression of confusion returned.

"No…I don't think so. Am I?"

Daisya hopped up from the table, and stretched his arms above his head.

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"Okay."

He wandered over to Lenalee, and offered a hand.

"And are you boring?"

"I don't know. No one ever tells me if I am."

Lenalee took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

"Well, that'll have to do for now. Follow me!"

The two exorcists went running through the tables, out towards the back field. Well, one ran, the other one hopped along in his wake, as if not quite registering what was going on yet.

...

"Okay, so basically all you need to do is get it between those rocks," said Daisya authoritatively, pointing at the makeshift goalposts, "I'll tell you the rules later.

Lenalee nodded. She didn't look like she'd be too strong yet, but she'd insisted on backing up quite a ways.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Er, nothing."

Lenalee stopped staring at the goalposts, and took a swing at the ball, which took off at an alarmingly sharp angle, at least six metres straight up.

Daisya looked on as it arced through the air, flying past the field and over the heads of the fighters punching at sandbags twenty metres over.

He stood on his tiptoes to see the final trajectory of the ball, and grinned before addressing Lenalee. For some reason, he kept his eyes fixed on the field where the ball had landed.

"You know…" Daisya began thoughtfully, "I think…"

"What? Did I do it wrong?" Lenalee asked nervously.

She stood up on her tiptoes to try and see where the ball had landed, and winced.

"Oh, I did."

"Nope, not at all," said Daisya cheerfully, "I was just about to say that maybe, if I work really hard, I might be as good as you at this. But how about I say I did this one for now? I can't be saying I got beat by an eight-year-old."

"Um, okay…"

Her response was forestalled by the ball whipping back at them with all the inhuman strength Kanda could muster, followed by the unfortunate Kanda himself.

Daisya sidestepped, and roundhouse kicked the ball to the ground before it broke any bones. He grinned.

"So you changed your mind?"

Kanda came skidding to a halt in front of him, visibly holding himself back.

"Yeah," he growled, "I think I'm going to kill you now, instead of later."

Lenalee held up a hand.

"Um…"

"Well, why don't you try to beat me first?"

"Hey, guys…"

"No way in hell!"

"Excuse me…"

Daisya waved a gesturing hand at Kanda, and turned to face Lenalee.

"See? You don't wanna end up like him."

"Tch."

Kanda's expression was the epitome of contempt.

Lenalee smiled, in an attempt to ameliorate things.

"Kanda, why don't you play with us, if you're over here anyway? It _should_ be fun."

Kanda was unimpressed.

"Yeah, right. It's not a good idea to be anywhere near Daisya, you know. He talks too much."

Lenalee appeared to consider this, then turned to Daisya.

"If he plays with us, will you be quiet?"

Daisya grinned, and nodded.

"Sure. Anything to get him to play, of course."

Lenalee turned back to Kanda.

"See? It'll be fine. And I promise I won't talk too much either."

Kanda sighed, and glared at Daisya.

"Have you even taught her the rules?"

"Nope. But you don't really need them with three people, right?"

"She should still learn them."

Daisya rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Fine, if you _want_ to."

Ten minutes later, and it was Lenalee and Kanda against Daisya. Rather an unfair match, if Daisya did say so himself. Winning all the time was boring.

Another ball shot at the goal, and he blocked it effortlessly, and shot it back to Kanda.

"Want a replay? I'm sure you'll do better this time–"

He jumped up as the ball whizzed by, letting it hit his shoulder before kicking it to Lenalee, who had taken the position of defense.

"You want to try?" he asked slyly, "You might be better than Kanda, though that ain't saying much."

" _Daisya_..."

The ball soared through the air, this time upwards instead of outwards, and landed heavily on Kanda's head for a second time. Daisya nearly cackled in glee: Kanda's fists clench hard enough to make his skin even whiter. Lenalee had achieved by accident what he suspected would take months to accomplish. Hopefully this wasn't just beginner's luck.

He was talking about hitting Kanda over the head, but having enough of a hold over Kanda to make him hold his rage for a moment could fit too.

Daisya kicked the ball up, then balanced it on his knee.

"Okay, I think it's my turn. Watch out!"

...

An hour or so later, Daisya had narrowly avoided several bloody noses and been a bit too slow to avoid one of them; Kanda had nearly overloaded his system with bottled-up rage; and Lenalee had proved she was to be reckoned with when it came to kicking force, if not aim.

"All right! Wanna go again?" Daisya asked, enjoying the after-effects of morphine both endogenous and artificial.

Kanda took a look at him, made a facial expression Daisya wished he could replicate, and slowly walked off. Lenalee looked slightly guilty.

"I think I should probably go back, too. My brother says I shouldn't strain myself."

"Oh, okay. Thanks for playing, by the way. You could be really good, if you practiced a lot."

Lenalee looked slightly bashful.

"I'm only really good at it because of my Innocence," she said quietly, "I have to be good at kicking."

Daisya shrugged.

"Doesn't change that you're as good as Kanda, and you're not creepily strong like him. Wanna play again sometime?"

"Maybe," Lenalee said, turning to walk away, "See you at dinner!"

She broke into a light run, and Daisya decided that maybe it was time to get a cloth. His shirt was starting to stain red.

He grabbed a small vial from his pocket, popped a couple of tablets in his mouth, and started to run in the direction of the laundry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies because this whole part will be really, really inconsistent, and probably short-ish. Anyhow, enjoy (if possible)!

"What power controls Poland and Lithuania and all those bits up north of there?"

Daisya had sprawled out on his bed, and held the atlas above his had to read.

"Russia."

"Lenalee?"

"Yes, Russia, I think."

"Correctamundo."

Daisya rolled over, and tossed the book to Kanda, who caught it with ease.

"What regions of Germany were Prussian before unification?"

Daisya's hand shot up, pointing straight into the air.

"The eastern bits."

Lenalee nodded.

"And some land on the western bank of the Rhine."

Kanda sighed, and handed the atlas to Lenalee.

"Correct. Daisya, don't write that on the test."

Daisya waved a hand.

"Like we'll ever be asked that."

"Well," Lenalee said brightly, "You never know. Anyway, what two empires are the 'sick' empires?"

"Austro-Hungary and the Ottomans."

The two boys spoke in unison. Daisya sat up with a grin, and Kanda scowled.

"Did we get it right?"

Lenalee nodded. "Yes."

"Hah! Told ya I was studying enough."

"Whatever."

Lenalee tossed the atlas to Daisya, who flopped back down on the bed.

"How about we do something harder, eh?"

"Um, okay. I might not know all the answers, though."

Kanda waved a hand dismissively.

"You don't have a test, so you'll be fine."

"Okay! What regions of the Ottoman Empire have the highest akuma..."

Here, Daisya paused, and frowned.

"In-key-"

"Incidence."

"...incidence, thank you very much Mr. Know-It-All, and why?"

The atlas got passed around a few more times. It bears mentioning that the maps in it were a bit different from your typical ones depicting geographical formations and political borders. There were a few of those, yes, but a significant number of the maps were coded with different colours and shades for odder parameters than just rainfall and heat. Some of the legends read 'number of akuma sightings in winter' or 'number of innocence pieces collected after 1815'. Needless to say, the atlas was thick, so tossing it around doubled as weight training.

...

The answer, for those curious, to Daisya's question is as follows: the Caucasus mountains, any regions with a high Armenian population, and Bulgaria.

Akuma incidence is dependent on roughly two factors: death rate, and Innocence concentration. That isn't all, sadly. The Earl uses akuma frequently to run errands, such as eliminate exorcists and finders, as well as brokers who have lost their usefulness. Thus, the charts are useful in determining whether or not the exorcists' top priority should be to find Innocence or to exterminate the akuma.

If the former is the case, a tag-team of up to three is sent. Single exorcists can also complete the job, depending on the usefulness of their finder and the skill of the exorcist. Notice that, while exorcists are skilful, finders are useful.

Anyhow, the second situation will call for more than just a few exorcists with more than just moderate skill. This sometimes a problem, as finding more than three free exorcists is difficult, let alone finding ones that can suppress the tendency to cabin fever. Let us define the latter term as follows: the symptom that a small group of people, when in close proximity with one another for an extended period of time, develop; the will to strangle one another or to yell, or just escape. Some are more prone to it than others, and groups from approximately three to ten people, depending on how similar the personalities are to one another.

The Black Order is good at people-managing. This will not be very relevant to our story for another, say, four or five years.

...

"Hey, that was actually a pretty decent game."

Daisya kicked the ball in circles, then switched to figure-eights. Marie and Lenalee had gone off to find some water, but Kanda was just leaning against the wall, and looking sullen. He did that a lot.

"Yeah, right. None of us has any idea what we're doing."

Daisya switched to kicking the ball against the wall, earning a glare, but continuing nonetheless.

"Well, I'm better than everyone here, and Lenalee's okay. You and Marie aren't so good, but hey, we've got even numbers."

"But we still don't have enough people to play a game with a goalie. Or even use any of the rules," finished Kanda contemptuously.

He seemed to like the rules, because he never missed an opportunity to complain about how bad the four of them were at football.

Hmm.

"We never played by the rules when I was a kid, so why should we do it now? Life doesn't have rules."

"Life isn't a game."

Daisya halted the ball momentarily, and grinned.

"And that's where you're wrong."

He resumed kicking the ball and bouncing it off of every available surface.

Kanda did like to complain, but he was sticking around.

Something clicked.

"Tell you what, I could teach you some stuff if you don't want to suck so much at it."

"It it gets you to stop making me play when I don't want to."

Aha.

Daisya wandered to the bag he'd leaned against the wall, and fished out some pills and a bottle of water. He downed a couple of tablets, and looked over at Kanda.

"Well, if you're just going to sit there, I'm going to make you play. What do you say to passing practice?"

"Whatever."

"Thanks very much."

Daisya grinned, and leaned over to give Kanda a token of appreciation. He'd play better if he was all riled up and competitive.

Thanks to his reflexes, he dodged Kanda's elbow of retribution. Unluckily, the kick caught him off guard.

…

"Do I _have_ to?" Daisya whined, "Jiujitsu or whatever doesn't work against akuma. I can already handle my Innocence, you know."

Kanda folded his arms, scowling.

"You're going to end up fighting some human bastard sooner or later. Just suck it up and go to practice."

"But I don't _want_ to."

"I thought you liked exciting stuff."

"Standing around and getting beat up by you isn't exciting."

"Then why do you keep asking for it?"

Daisya raised his hands.

"You got me there. Anyway, if I go now, then I'll have to practice my moves. Over and over again. That's why it's called practice. It gets boring."

Kanda, who had hitherto been standing in Daisya's doorway, strode through and caught Daisya by the collar. Before Daisya could voice a question to match his look of confusion, Kanda had turned and started to drag him into the hallway.

"Ow, hey, that hurts!"

"If you shut up and stop resisting, I'll let you go."

"But I don't want to and you're hurting me—"

"Just shut up. Aren't you taking enough of those meds to knock out Marie?"

"Well, my burns are still pretty — aargh!"

"I told you to be quiet."

"Okay, okay!"

Kanda shot down the hallway, with Daisya hopping along to keep up with his brisk pace.

…

"Keep your knees straight. And tuck in the back of your shirt."

Daiysa obeyed reluctantly.

"What does the shirt have to do with anything?" he grumbled, "Can we do some kicking now, or something? Th—"

"If you say 'this is boring' one more time I _will_ give you kicking lessons."

The two of them stood facing one another in a corner of the training centre, on mats that _definitely_ weren't thick enough. Or soft enough.

"Oh-kay," Daisya enunciated slowly. Kanda was a _lot_ stricter when he was teaching.

The walls were simple plaster-covered stone, reinforced by wooden beams. It was pretty crowded most of the time, and now was no exception. A group of finders was having a wrestling competition, a few of the adult exorcists were going through drills, and the two older girls — Antonia and Hell or something — were having a no-holds-barred match in the boxing ring.

Daisya had already gone to another place when Kanda decided to take matters into his own hands. By matters, it meant Daisya's wrist.

"If you don't stand properly, you're going to fall over before you can do anything. Straighten _up_."

Kanda twisted Daisya's arm behind his back in one smooth motion, punctuating the last word with a wooden knife to the lower back. Daisya's balance shifted evenly between his feet.

…

Good, Kanda thought. He had a habit of balancing too much on one foot.

Also, he didn't complain about the pain for some reason. Maybe he'd finally sucked it up, but Kanda wasn't too hopeful.

"Now stay like that."

Daisya made a face, but he remained balanced. Good.

"Do you do this every day?" he asked, "Or do I have the only Innocence that doesn't need Kung Pao or whatever."

Kanda put on a pensive mask, but it wasn't too solid. Daisya was annoying, but he was also a fairly unshakable target.

"No, you're not that special. And that's a type of chicken."

Daisya slipped momentarily into his uneven stance, then balanced again. Not bad.

"Well, Jeanne's got the mace and chain, Kiki has her glove-things, and I think Isaac's Innocence is that set of brass knuckles, so they all have to be down here. What are the other Innocences?"

Kanda whipped a punch at Daisya's shoulder, but he managed to dodge in time.

"Don't get off balance. Anyway, how–"

"I hear them talking. Sometimes I come down here if I need to get you. The other ones don't talk about it much. "

"Quit interrupting me."

"Hah! I was right about your question. Can we do something else, now?"

Kanda sighed, and relented. Keeping him on one thing was only going to make it worse. Even if he just knew the basics, that might be enough.

After all, he wasn't pretty, like him or Lenalee. Not even in the dark of a run-down inn, to a drunk with only two things on his mind. Not at all.

…

Daisya was pretty disappointed when they did throws instead of strikes, but then Kanda decided to throw him on his back instead of his side.

Once he'd gotten his breath back, he went about it with a bit more dignity. No more complaining about it being useless, oh no. Not after Kanda said he hadn't even thrown him properly.

Damn, it was a pain in the ass. Well, pain in the ribs and the back and the burns.

Kanda lunged at him, not too fast, and Daisya pivoted to grab his arm, and turn so that they were both facing the same direction.

It was sort of fun, actually. It was all about letting the other guy go exactly where he wanted, and helping him get there.

Kanda landed perfectly, slapping the mat and rolling to his feet. It was pretty obvious that he was making his easy, otherwise Daisya would be the one on the floor and he wouldn't be getting up like that.

Now it was Daisya's turn to attack. He feinted a punch, but planted his foot and went for a roundhouse. You didn't need fancy training to know one of those.

But Kanda had fancy training, and he knew how to deal with it. _Ouch_.

Ah, and Kanda seemed…not angry. Which was sort of an improvement. His eyes were narrowed slightly in concentration, and there was the usual half-scowl, but he seemed relaxed. At any rate, he wasn't thinking about much that made him angry. He was probably enjoying the opportunity to get payback for the thing with the bucket of whitewash.

It was nice to watch, and any rate. Kanda didn't seem to be happy too often. When he was poring over maps with Marie he was, or practicing down here with Lenalee, or following the old man around and complaining about him. Hey, it was a fine old tradition.

They made him less angry. Daisya wasn't sure Kanda could ever be contemptuous of them. He could probably hate them, all right, but he seemed to actually respect them. Respect wasn't something Daisya did too well, he thought as another strike came flying at him.

He threw Kanda again, up and over his shoulder.

"You're using your arms too much. Do it again."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is absolute shit but I was and remain utterly unmotivated and lazy, so I'll just edit when I have nothing else to do (I say, and never remember).

A few days later, Daisya, Lenalee, and Kanda found themselves standing awkwardly in front of a desk, and more awkwardly in front of a woman who spun in her chair. In front of her was a desk, and behind her a very tall, very full set of bookcases, crammed with ancient illuminated grimoires and scrolls of parchment. There were also the more modern penny-dreadfuls that she read in her spare time, badly disguised as files. Daisya would later steal a folder of them, and discover far more about the Director than he ever wanted to know.

"It looks like it's just a small Innocence mission, so you three should be fine handling it. Actually, I wanted to send just Lenalee, but your brother wouldn't let me send you out without at least two others, so, you know, I had to send all of you."

She spun herself around again, and grabbed a roll of paper from behind her, before completing the circle and laying it out on the desk. A painted nail traced an outlined route to a Cornish village.

"It should be just here. Tintagel, is where you're going. A tapestry in the castle started displaying moving pictures. Just get a hold of the tapestry there, and you should be fine. There are a few finders there, but no akuma have shown up yet. Any questions?"

The Director cocked her head to the side, and spun around again. Kanda resisted the urge to sneer. She didn't take kindly to resistance, as he'd found out when she first took the post a few months ago.

"No."

"Ah, wonderful. It should be fun for you three."

She smiled vaguely, and waved them out of the room.

…

The doors closed behind them, and Daisya's face immediately coiled into a look of incredulity.

"Does she really like spinning that much?"

"Be quiet," Kanda snapped, "She's in charge of the branch. She does what she wants."

"Well, _someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Yeah, I just got told I have to put up with you, even when I'm on a mission."

Lenalee sighed quietly.

"Guys, please don't argue. We're not going to get very much done if you two don't get along."

Daisya waved a hand.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine. We managed to put up with each other for weeks when we were on our last mission together, didn't we?"

"It was our only mission together. You pushed me out a window."

"Now that's not fair, you're taking it out of context–"

"And then you made me carry you all the–"

" _Guys_ …"

Lenalee had stopped in her tracks, and planted her feet stubbornly.

"You two are going to agree to get along _right now_ , all right?"

Daisya grinned without a hint of shame at being less mature than the girl who was several inches shorter and at least a year younger than him.

"Okay, sorry. Kanda, want to apologize?"

Kanda grumbled, and his apology came out through gritted teeth.

"Sorry."

…

Daisya laid a change of clothes on top of the bedroll, and tried to muscle it into a roll. His fingers barely hurt at all, now.

That reminded him…

He got up to fetch the glass vial on his desk, and emptied the contents into a small purse. He did _not_ want to forget those.

He tied up the mouth of the bag, and shoved it in one of his pockets. Pockets, he had to say, were handy. Perfect size for hiding a hair tie, though that was a mostly futile effort.

He returned to the bed roll, and managed to get it into a rough cylindrical shape. Eh, close enough.

You only needed on piece of string. Loop it around, go over five inches, loop it around again, go under, up, and tie it off.

He planted his foot on one end to compress it, and tied the string off as best he could. You didn't want it too tight, otherwise you'd scrape the skin off your fingers trying to untie it. And his fingers had only just healed.

Oh, yeah, and he needed to pack bandages.

He fetched a roll or two, and stuffed them inside the roll. It should be secure enough.

Hah, it had been a month since they'd gotten back, and he still looked like a walking mummy. He could sell himself off as a fancy ornament to some bunch of nouveau riche, if he wanted to. They really liked their Egypt stuff, according to one of the finders. He'd overheard the guy — Art, was it? — gossiping about his time as a footman. It sounded like a pretty miserable job.

Let's see — bedroll, rucksack with extra food and water, bandages, medicine, and the Charity Bell.

He shook his head, and heard the familiar jingling from the tail of his hood.

All set.

…

He kicked Kanda's door, and waited.

"Go away."

Daisya could have laughed. Kanda acted like the mission was some sort of punishment, but he was probably going to be the one dragging them on.

"You packed?"

"Yeah, now go see Lenalee, or something."

"Okay. We're leaving in fifteen minutes, so don't be the rotten egg."

"Yeah, yeah."

…

Lenalee, true to form, was already waiting outside her door with a pack that was far too big for her.

"Is Kanda ready?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Yeah, but he won't come out of his room."

"Oh, he'll be out in a few minutes. He just likes to make sure he isn't forgetting anything. What's funny?"

Daisya stopped giggling.

"Oh, nothing. He acts like a housewife, if you let him."

"I don't really know what housewives are like. Do they worry a lot?"

"Yep."

Lenalee balanced her chin on her fingers, looking thoughtful.

"Hmm. Maybe he is a bit like one."

"He is, trust me," Daisya said, then quickly added: "Don't tell him I said that."

"Okay."

…

"So, this time we've got to take the train to Plymouth, and wing it from there?"

"Yeah."

The trek to the station was as arduous as the first time, but it felt like it had taken place years later. The air had the bite of autumn in it, and the sun shone weakly in a sky mottled with clouds. Around them, the fallen leaves smelled of comforting decay, and the rain that had fallen a night or two ago.

"It's really nice out today," Lenalee commented above the silence, "Don't you think?"

"Yup. Not too hot, not too cold, and it's not too dry. You like this type of weather?"

Lenalee shrugged, looking up at the patterns of cumulus across the sky.

"Yes. I really like it when it snows, too. It looks pretty. Do you like snow?"

Daisya nodded, watching a horseman morph into a dog.

"Yeah, it's nice. We didn't get snow at home, really. It was always hot and dry. Well, no. Sometimes it was cool and dry. Mainly I just like it when it's not dry."

"So you didn't like how it was at home?"

Lenalee's voice sounded a bit off. Daisya searched for a word to describe it. Not smaller, not weaker, but sort of…from far off. Empty. Like Kanda's eyes, when you knew something else was there but you couldn't see it for the life of you.

"No, not really. It was really boring, and I always had to keep track of my brothers and sister. They were really annoying. And everyone stopped playing with me after a while, because I was too good at stuff. I even told them that they could still play with me, even though I was better than them. It was really weird."

He hears a giggling sound.

"What's funny?"

Lenalee put a hand over her smile. Back to normal. She was better at that than Kanda, and she looked nicer after, with all her smiles. Sort of like his little sister, if she hadn't been a crybaby.

"Nothing. I haven't been home in a while. I left when I was young, so headquarters is like my home. It's nice, with my brother and Kanda and everyone."

A few minutes passed as they walked, Kanda trailing out in front, and the other two following.

"So, did one of the Generals teach you, or did you just figure stuff out on your own?" Daisya asked.

Lenalee shook her head.

"General Yeager's teaching me. I don't think I could get this good on my own."

Daisya shrugged.

"You can get pretty good, even if you're just teaching yourself. I taught myself a lot of things. Well, my parents started teaching them to me, but then they were busy, so I always had to teach myself the rest. You could probably teach yourself like that."

"I guess so. I can't really remember my parents, so I learned everything from my brother and Jerry and General Yeager."

"That makes sense. How old are you again? Eleven?"

"No, I'm nine."

"Wow, you're really not old. No wonder you're so tiny. You must have been really small when you came here."

Lenalee laughed.

"I was. I've grown a lot, though. Maybe I'll even be taller than you, someday."

"I can't have that!" Daisya exclaimed in mock outrage. "At least I'm still taller than you and Kanda now."

" _Now_ ," Lenalee repeated mockingly.

"Yeah, actually, you're three years younger than me, so you'd probably be taller than me if you were my age. Mom said the girls always grow faster."

"I didn't know that. Do they?"

Daisya made a face. "They did in my village."

…

The train came in a cloud of steam and the scream of metal on metal, and the rolling countryside faded into the clouded heath and moors of the southwest.

Daisya had gobbled up books, but he had not yet read that this place used to be separate from the greater part of England, like Wales or Scotland or East Anglia. This information wouldn't have been important, but it would have explained the sense of things being somehow _different_.

…

The three of them, accompanied by a finder named Liba, walked across the Cornish landscape, crossing moors and fields. There was a sort of foreboding that hung over the rocks and heather along with the mist. It was pregnant with a warning: do not push your luck. Move on, admire the beauty of the wild grasses and the sea, but do not stop for long. There are things far older here than you would like to encounter.

The path ahead was paved with neither asphalt nor gravel; it was just a thin strip of trodden-down dirt and grass winding away over the rise and fall of the landscape. Clouds blew around them, a net of fog to catch all who wandered astray as the evening settled in. Liba had said they could get to the inn before midnight, if they walked at a reasonable pace.

Occasional scraps of conversation flurried between Kanda and Lenalee, burning up in minutes like stray shreds of cloud. Liba stared solemnly ahead, casting occasional glances behind, and up at the sky. She had known the time and direction at every moment during this journey, without a watch or a chart. She might have been a mariner in another live, or a nomad.

Daisya, for his part, stared wide-eyed at all that surrounded them. This landscape was harsher, rawer than the forested roads of the continent, but in a way entirely different from his hometown. There, the threat was the deceptively warm sun, the dry sand. It felt as if the world could curve away from you, rivers running dry over the edges of the earth, leaving you a shrivelled husk clinging to the rocks that had been so nice and warm.

Here, the land seemed like it could swallow you up. Some great beast, with glowing eyes and dripping teeth, could rip out your throat and eat you alive, leaving your corpse a bed for flowers the following spring. The shifting play of light and shadow on the clouds could lead you over the cliff, to rest on the beach and be swept into the depths. Or the fog could just swallow you whole the moment you wandered off the path, leaving no trace.

The echo of the waves and the wind in the grass and the gentle sound of sea air sparked something in his blood that drove it to cycle furiously through his veins, lending a new edge to his senses.

The little group crested a rise, right near the edge of a cliff, and suddenly the fog fell away. The last light of sunset hung in the sky, melting like butter, and Daisya's eyes caught on the rocks and jagged waves.

It was as if he had looked into the eyes of this place, staring into its old and melancholy soul. Look, it said, here there are things that have not been and will not be for centuries.

Look, it said. Remember.

Yes, Daisya thought. I remember.

"Daisya!"

Liba's voice shattered the sea-textured silence, and Daisya returned to the group.

…

The inn was like any other: a beacon of candlelight in the swirling darkness. The clientele chattered and murmured, amongst the clink of glass for those as could afford it. Rough men, with charcoal dust on their hands and a stoop in their posture, drank from wooden mugs.

Daisya only just noticed it, but Lenalee seemed to have drawn closer to Liba as they entered. Kanda, too, took up position at her side. Daisya wondered if Lenalee was a bit nervous about going out after all her time inside, or if Komui had given orders.

He did seem awfully concerned for his sister. Sure, Lenalee was way better than his own sister, but you couldn't live with someone for years and not get annoyed by basically everything they did. Could you?

Kanda tugged on his coat, dragging him after the newly-departed Liba. She did walk fast.

The finder strode straight through the crowd, navigating the drunkards face-down in stew and the odd city man scrunched between two miners. A few of them took notice. They turned, grinning smiles that had little to do with anything so pure as contentment. No, they looked more like the sick grimaces of mad dogs. Hungry. Inhuman.

"What's a group of pretty little ladies doing here? Have we been good this week?" one slurred, leaning over into their path.

He'd been on the sauce for a while, from the smell, and his fingers were slowly unwinding from around the handle of the mug. What was this stupid bastard expecting? No one would accept a compliment from someone that dirty—

Daisya stopped mid-thought when he noticed Kanda's and Lenalee's reactions. Kanda flinched hard enough to stagger, and Lenalee's eyes went curiously blank.

Not that they were curious. It was just that there had to be a reason they were so blank, which made Daisya curious. English was a weird language, though he supposed the others did that too.

"We're here on business," Liba said sternly, "Which is more than can be said for you."

"Well…"

Something in Liba's hand flashed, and she leaned over the man to whisper something. Daisya couldn't quite see, but he didn't think she was asking him out on a date.

Immediately, the man nodded stiffly, and turned back to his table.

"Come on, come on, we don't have all day."

"It's night."

"Daisya, shut up."

She sat them down at a corner table, and told them to stay put. The look of resigned disgust on her face told Daisya that this stuff with the drunk guys wasn't too rare, and that he was missing someone.

This, for its part, made him want to find out why. Mysteries were interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inconsistent style? Terrible purple prose? Really vague references? Short chapters? No emotional tension? An incurable addiction to the 'enter' key? You have come to the right place, my friends.


	4. Chapter 4

They woke up early, hours before sunrise. They hadn't so much slept as napped, but getting to the inn early gave them a base for their equipment. They needed to travel quickly from here, and get to Tin Tangle or whatever. Hopefully before dawn. The finders weren't in dire straits just yet, but they didn't want to be.

Daisya tried to remember everything he'd heard about the place, as they walked the winding road. Some old King had been born here, they said, but it had been so long ago that no one quite remembered how much of him was real and how much of him was legend. He'd read a bit about him in the stories the old man told and the books he'd gobbled up.

Some French guy who sounded a bit like a duck had written this big, long, complicated book about him. Daisya hadn't read it, but the old man had. He told stories sometimes. This King, Arthur, had a sister and an old mentor and a nephew. Morgana, Merlin, Mordred. They sure liked those M's. Anyhow, the sister hated him and his nephew killed him. That was family for you. It sucked.

He tried to imagine who would have killed him, if he became famous. His brothers had more energy, but it would probably be his sister. She had more motive. With the amount of attention his brothers paid to everything, she'd probably drowned by now. Or maybe one of his brothers. Then, he'd have to go back and run the shop. Or mom and dad could just have another kid...

The thoughts drifted through Daisya's mind gently, but the afterthought hit him like a ton of bricks.

She — they — might be dead without him.

Not that he really cared. At most he'd see them twice a year, from now on. Probably only once a year, and only if Tiedoll or Marie dragged him there. Kanda wouldn't bother and Lenalee was still too small to lift him. What sort of a brother was he, wondering about that?

He'd thought it was the normal sort, but Lenalee and her brother made it seem like normal siblings liked each other. Truth be told, he did miss having someone to boss around.

Not that they ever listened to him.

Not that anyone did. The Order wasn't much better, but at least it was fun.

His left foot caught on a grass-covered stone, and his memory lurched off the train tracks of thought.

This was a land of story, after all. Not memory.

He remembered it pretty clearly, after gobbling the book in a few days. He'd asked if it was all real, if this rainy, cold land had people as interesting as the weather, and the old man said that only a tiny bit of it ever happened. That there was probably a king called Arthur, and he might have had a sister called Morgana, but all that bit about magic and destiny and Avalon was all fake.

Daisya had been disappointing. It was such a boring cop-out. Here he was, hoping that this boring old place could have something cool hidden on the clifftops of Cornwall, but no. It was just another story made up by people who wanted to have some fun.

He could understand, a bit. Sometimes he wondered about things. Like why the moon stayed in the sky during the day, but the sun was never up during the night.

And looking at the mist, thick as soup in the night air, and the heather-clad stones, he could imagine why you'd think there was some magic in this place. It seemed alive.

So what if there was a King Arthur? What if he had a sister? What if that sister had a son?

King Arthur was born here, in — in Tintagel, that's what this place was called. He grew up running all over the moors, diving off of clifftops, and the like, until his mom and dad said it was too dangerous, maybe.

The fog swirled, like hair or wine, and parted as it slid across a signpost. In the distance, an enormous shape was barely visible, outlined in the haze. They were less than a half-hour away. They'd get to the castle, get the Innocence, and be done by morning. Then, to bed and back home.

Was it just him, or was it getting darker up ahead? But that was impossible, because it was getting to be morning.

He brushed the thought off. There'd be another mission in a day or ten, after they got back.

On a whim, Daisya tried to count the number he'd been on already. The first one, with Marie and Kanda, another with Isaac — the drawing kid was was always damn well better than him — a few quick jaunts out with a pair of finders, and this. He had only been stationed at headquarters since the end of August, for hell's sake, and now it was already late in October.

He knew he shouldn't use those words, as a servant of God, but couldn't he give them a bit of leeway? The rules they already had were ridicu—

"Activate!"

A bullet thudded into the ground where Lenalee had been a moment ago, Daisya saw from behind a rocky outcropping.

He replayed the last few seconds over in his head. The darkness looming over them had coalesced out of the fog, but not before a spray of lead slugs had bitten into the ground in front of them. Lenalee was in the lead, and had seen it just in time to dodge. Kanda, for his part, had grabbed both him and Liba, and dragged them off the road instantaneously. Then, in a flare of light and sound, Lenalee had leapt — what was it, five, seven metres — straight up. For a moment, she froze, illuminated green by the glow of her Innocence.

The akuma had wasted no time in firing a new stream of bullets, aiming at the easy target, but Lenalee was quick. She dropped to the ground, darted forward, and jumped, swinging her legs in a kick that arced up and over her head.

Daisya barely had time to notice where he was, and she'd already taken out an akuma.

"Lenalee, stay activated, and keep a watch," Liba called, as Kanda pulled him to his feet. "More will come."

Ahead, Lenalee nodded, a silhouette against the falling ash.

She was nine years old. She was really nice, and sometimes shy.

She had destroyed a grotesquerie of metal and madness in a ball of flame.

She was not his little sister.

Arthur's parents made him study to be the next King, but not his sister. She was allowed to do what she wanted. And so she did.

They set off again, with a renewed vigilance. Kanda stayed in the rear, dragging Daisya forward when he started to dawdle, while Lenalee led the way.

Each of the new akuma that appeared fell the same way. They aimed, she dodged, and kicked off the ground beneath, catching them on the way up. One, two, three, four more vanished. They were only level 1, but for a nine-year-old…

If Lenalee was this good, then how powerful was Kanda?

For a brief moment, Daisya understood Kanda's anger at his defencelessness. His vulnerability. His twisted ankle and his scale-like burn scars.

He was a burden.

The moon was still high in the sky, lingering, as if waiting for the sun. Maybe it was nervous, Daisya wondered, looking at the faint blush of lilac on the horizon, maybe it hovered like a bird, or a boy, or a girl.

Back home, the girls always used to hover at festival time. The tradition was that the boys would ask the girls they liked to accompany them, but truth be told, the boys were even more nervous about it. Leading up to the festival, the girls sent messages — not actual paper ones, but things they did. Daisya didn't get it. The kids down the street said that everyone was terrified of getting turned down, but they hoped anyway.

Maybe the moon hung shyly in the sky, in its best suit, waiting for the sun to come. It knew it'd burn, and the sun would curse it out of the sky like the big, too-damn-hot bastard that it was, but it still waited. It hoped.

Maybe it came up early because of that, too. It knew it could only bother the sun when the sun was tired, just waking up or ready to sleep. It was an idiot, but one that thought it stood a chance.

Maybe.

That was a train of thought that had crossed Daisya's mind on occasion.

Why did it wait there, when it knew it couldn't last?

…

When they finally got to Tintagel, Lenalee was starting to show signs of wear. The finders had five akuma trapped in barriers outside, waiting for extermination in front of the ruined stone walls.

"Please," one said hesitantly, "Miss Exorcist, could you eliminate them before you go in?"

He gulped nervously when Kanda skewered him with a stare.

"Um, we only have a few barriers. I'm sorry. I'm really, _really_ sorry."

Daisya could bet that he was. Kanda wasn't someone to mess with.

The castle itself wasn't too pretty, squatting like some ancient tree stump. It looked like it had been there a thousand years (it probably had been) and was pretty sure it was going to last a thousand more. It was long dead, but it wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

Daisya envied the job security. Imagine, being a legend for two thousand years.

This was a nice place. He could smell the sea, and hear the waves on the cliffs.

Lenalee's face was like a doll's — set in stone — and for some reason Kanda was standing close to her, almost standing over her. He was still glaring daggers at the finder.

Daisya could hear Kanda say, "Lenalee…"

And hear Lenalee say, "I'll finish them."

No, stop, hold it! Could this be Kanda caring for someone? Could this be another curious case of Marie?

Seeing as Kanda stood by Lenalee, back when the first akuma attacked, as she floated down again, and how he stood now, it might be.

Seeing as she'd now just tried to trip him, it was probably a slightly different thing.

The akuma were the work of a few seconds, and a curtain of dust fell over the scene.

"Let's go," she said. "I'm getting a bit tired."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just crammed a bunch of headcanons in here, but in this universe, Daisya genuinely hates hot, dry weather, because it reminds him of home, and loves stories, because they let him escape and give him somewhere to live for a little while.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [singing tunelessly] I have no idea what I'm doing. Is any of this relevant or even of moderate quality or is it just filler and finest fromage (had to switch languages for the best alliteration)? Am I making up completely inaccurate stuff because I can't be bothered to google the architecture of the castle at Tintagel? Probably. Am I just going to brush all inconsistencies under the rug as this being a very similar alternate universe to the DGM timeline as well as our own? You betcha.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos, please feel free to comment re: any characters you'd like to see show up.

They walked — in Lenalee's case, stiffly — under an archway of crumbling stone. Arthur must have walked through the same gate. For him, it would be returning home. He'd go out full of fire, and kick some righteous ass, conquer some territory, have some fun, and come back to this place where he'd been locked in a room with no books except lessons on manners, or something boring like that. Honestly, Daisya didn't see why he'd stay here, even when he was grown up. He could just grab some random kid and tell them how to run the place, then go somewhere where he could do all the same fighting stuff and not have to take care of a home.

The Innocence was deep inside the castle, the finder had said, embedded in one of the threadbare tapestries that once stopped this place from being a damn cold thing to live in. They didn't work too well anymore, Daisya thought as he shivered. Another reason why Artie should 'a run away. Sure, this place looked cool and had all sorts of interesting hallways, but it was pretty chilly, even for Daisya. Cold was only interesting if it was a treat, which he imagined it wouldn't be for Arthur.

He couldn't remember a lot of Arthur's story. He'd gotten married to some girl, and had a bunch of friends. Some girl fell in love with one of them, and it all went to hell. Then his sister's kid came along and killed him.

He should have run away.

The Slavic-looking finder that had been leading them turned along a corridor that seemed to stretch for ages. One finder stood every five metres along the wall, with three barrier devices apiece. The tapestry behind them was the usual "people with sticks poking other people with sticks," which wouldn't have been very exciting if the people with sticks hadn't moved.

They slid from one stitch to another, and Daisya couldn't tell if the thread was changing colour or if the little loops of thread were actually moving around, or if the Innocence was just changing what his eyes saw, without changing the tapestries. He'd heard it could warp reality like that.

As the three of them walked along it, various scenes played out. A single knight on foot held off a cavalry, a woman opened a door in the trunk of an oak, and in the middle, a crowned man stood at the centre of a semi—circle of knights.

Daisya couldn't remember who the knight was — it could have been any of them, because there wasn't much way you could tell the difference between helmets. Some dude having the time of his life, definitely. Daisya wished he could fight like that — just you and your trusty sword against an army of villains. Exciting! No Kanda to get snippy at you when you tried out something new and interesting, no Lenalee or Marie to feel guilty about, no old man patting you on the head and taking care of the problem himself. That was the _life_ , man.

The lady was probably the one who got Arthur's old man stuck in a tree. He couldn't really blame her, if the guy was that stupid. And the man with the crown was King. Even Daisya could tell that.

_Who dares enter hence?_

The words wove themselves at the bottom of the tapestry in a heavy medieval script that was practically illegible. In fact, Daisya thought at first it might be "Mho daref something something," before a finder read it out.

"He's asking who you guys are," the finder clarified. She was a skinny, rodent-like woman, hunched over slightly as if to apologize for her height.

"We're exorcists, aren't we?"

Daisya heard Kanda sigh.

"We would like to let you sleep at last," Lenalee said tactfully. "How long have you been like this?"

"Like what?" the finder translated.

"Alive. Moving around," Kanda muttered, "Like that."

He gestured at one of the knights, who had turned to look askance at the King.

"Like Percival?"

Daisya tried to make out what the words said this time, and it looked like "in Percival's fashion?" He supposed the finder would have to put it in simpler words to get it through Kanda's brain.

"Yeah, but all of you."

The King seemed to grow angry.

"These are our souls."

"Aren't they supposed to go to heaven?" Daisya asked. A sudden writhing of thread told him this was not a good thing to say.

"It's our duty to keep the story of Camelot alive."

The figures seemed to have drawn closer together, and the letters were bigger and bolder. Aha ha! _That's_ what they wanted.

"But everyone knows about you." Daisya argued, stepping forwards.

"Not these, um, idiots," the finder said hesitantly, apparently taking the polite route.

"Can't you cut Kanda some slack? He's a foreigner — _ouch!_ Hey, cut it out!"

"Why did he hit you?"

Daisya rubbed at his wrist, and turned back to address the cohort. All they needed was a bit of buttering up, telling them they were famous, and they'd be easy to handle.

"He's angry that I said he didn't know about you guys. You've been, like, legendary for centuries! Some guy from hundreds of years ago wrote a massive book about you, and a bunch of other guys."

"We can't, uh," the finder said slowly, reading as as the words twisted, "We can't rest now, because God still keeps us here."

Time to pull out the exorcist card. He'd overheard Jeanne telling Isaac that you could get away with most stuff, if you said you were a part of the Black Order. People were either too afraid of God or too afraid of the actual exorcists to interfere.

"No, it's not God. I promise. We are — we're his servants. We're supposed to tell you your job is done. You can go to heaven, now."

Kanda was going to tease him about this later, he just knew it.

"We have to stop people from ending up like us."

Arthur's kingdom had gone up in smoke when he died, hadn't it? Mordred became King, or something, and old Artie died a miserable death. No wonder they wanted people to learn from it. But was this actually Arthur?

"I promise! Everyone knows about brave King Arthur, and about how he was defeated. No one's going to do anything like it again. That's why we've come here to let you sleep."

"Then who will tell our story?"

"We'll do it. I'll do it. I promise, I can write you a good story."

"'This yet to be proven."

Daisya felt a twinge of annoyance, above the baseline of contempt. What did this bunch of linen know about that, huh?

"Yeah? All right. How 'bout I tell you a story, and you can see if it's good or not. Deal?"

"Your — no, sorry, didn't read that right — we'll hear you out, and then decide."

Daisya bowed politely, heart hammering in his ears. What'd he been thinking? There were akuma at the door and here he was bragging about his stories.

This wasn't even the real King. The real King wouldn't have been some stuffy, boring old goat like this, would he? He had the whole country to do whatever he wanted, so why did he end up like this? _Why?_ Why couldn't he just lay down and die in some blaze of glory? Only some boring guy would end up here, waiting on a God that didn't come and petulantly asking someone to make him into a legend.

Arthur must have been an obedient child. He grew up, took care of his family, and stayed in the castle. He _wanted_ to be King, and do all the paperwork. He read his books, and did his duty, and ended up like this. He wasn't the interesting guy that Mr. Mallard or whatever had told stories about. This King Arthur was just a boring, average guy. That had to be it.

Daisya could make up a better story than that. Sure, his stories weren't the best, but they were better than this.

"Got it. I'll tell you one, and it'll be a true — well, the facts probably won't be right, and it won't have actually happened — but it's gonna have way more truth than something where the facts are right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's like saying that, uh, clouds are made of smoke. They're not made of smoke, they're made of water, but they act like smoke and they don't act like water. Get it?"

He could feel the stares burning into his back.

"Continue."

What story...what story to use...? He had a half-dozen of them floating around in his brain, about adventurers and runaways and brothers with siblings, but that wouldn't do. These guys just wouldn't get it. Something...not sad, but not exactly plain and stupid. They had to like this one, right? Take it seriously.

_That one._

In the split second it took Daisya to think, he felt the air crystallize around him.

It was cool, and slightly damp on his tongue. His weight was balanced between his feet, leaning slightly forward on the left. His knees ached from the walking. The stone around him was cold, and he could feel the heat leaching out of his skin.

The Daisya that loved his job and laughed too much had to go. In these situations, it was best to have the Daisya that spent hours up on the cliffs, burning with hatred. He'd been better at stories, back then. He had to describe this story in excruciating detail. He had to make it real, like the old ones he used to escape life, and drift in through the cracks in his skin like fog, but with the weight of the ocean. It had to be short, a simple fairy tale. It had to be _real_.

Right.

...

Somehow, Liba noticed, the child became taller. He was still, but with the promise of motion: chin up, back straight, and eyes staring straight ahead as if reading a script, watching a play that no one else here could see.

" _This is the story of the sun and moon._ "

It was just for a moment, but she saw Kanda and Lenalee flinch for just a moment. The boy's voice was coming from somewhere far away, echoing off the stone.

...

"Now, the moon is quick, and it can dance around, and every day it spins around the world."

He held up a fist, as the earth, and traced a path around it with the first two fingers of his right hand.

"The sun can't really move like that — it moves, and spins in circles, but there's a part of it that can't be changed."

His right hand stopped its orbit, and closed over the left one, making a bigger object.

"It pulls the earth around it instead."

A second time, he outlined the path of an orbit. Daisya had to explain it. Otherwise, these guys wouldn't know that the sun stayed still. It was important for them to know.

"Way, way back, at the beginning of time, there sun was there. Then the earth. Then the moon."

Clasped hands. Left fist. Two fingers.

"The moon met the sun when it opened its eyes, and saw it — the sun — and saw that it burnt stronger and brighter than a thousand stars. It gave life to the world, and without it, there was nothing. The moon was cold, and dark, and weak, and small. Nothing like the sun."

"Each day, the moon felt the warmth of its fire, and sometimes came close enough to see the light that engulfed everything, even though there was darkness all around. It took one look, and fell in love with the sun."

Daisya's cheeks felt warm, but not out of embarrassment. He was starting to get into it. Sure, Kanda was _definitely_ judging him right now, but he was too far in to go back. He was never, ever going to live this down, anyway.

"It came up early, and stayed into the morning, waiting just so it could see the it, just watch it in its splendour, being everything the moon could never be.

"But the sun was not like the moon. It burnt and scorched it, turning part of it black, and cursed it, and drove it out of the sky when it stayed too long. The sun was…"

Daisya searched for a synonym for "colossal jerk."

"The sun was cruel, as well as strong. The moon could never fully face the sun, and could not produce its own light. It lived in a shadow, burnt and scarred, still hanging on to any scrap of light the sun left in its wake.

"Eventually, the moon learned to work around the sun. It could linger a little into the morning, and come up a bit before sunset, if it was careful. When it learned that, the sun stopped hurting it. Maybe the sun just wanted to be left alone."

"But the moon couldn't understand why the sun gave so much to the earth — not burning it, not freezing it — if it just wanted to be alone.

"It tried to watch the sun, but each time it crept out into full view, the sun just turned its head, as if even looking at it was a trial.

"The moon lived like that for thousands and thousands of years. Sometimes, the sun talked to it, about the weather on earth, or the comets that passed by. The moon, for its part, just fell deeper and deeper."

Daisya let the word trail off into the dead silence. He hadn't thought about why. Hadn't thought of an ending. What did the sun want? Why did the moon still stay? Was it ever going to realize that it didn't get a happy ending?

He stretched out his fingers, groping around in half-finished stories and numbers and memories, and dusted off a pathetic little scrap. These guys would probably put up with an ending like this, even if it was cheesy. No time like the present.

"But there was something that the moon didn't know, not until later, on its deathbed."

"When the sun started to die, it got weaker, and grew bigger, swallowing up planets and stars, and eventually it came closer to the moon.

"It was in pain, but it didn't yell, or scream. It just told the moon that it was dying, and told it something else, too."

"The moon was cold, and scarred, and silvery. The sun was scorching hot and strong as steel. If the sun ever got too close to the moon — bam! — it would burn up. Die. If the sun even looked the moon in the eyes, that was the end."

"So, when the sun was dying, it told the moon that it loved it. For all their lives, they had stayed at a distance, one not daring to look, one lashing out with fury. But, in the end, it had all been for nothing.

"The moon was happy to die just to know that it was loved."

Damn, Daisya thought, hearing the last word ring out in the silence, that really was cheesy. At least these tapestry guys seemed to be paying attention.

The thin-faced finder swallowed, and thread started to shift.

"Your story is...not light."

The words came at length. Daisya had to admit, he was starting to feel more than the tiniest bit embarrassed. If Kanda opened his mouth just _once…_

"Give us time to think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this was definitely absolute shit, but a bit of explanation as to the whole Arthur/solar system/stories in general thing: Daisya was obviously not a very social child, being a bit of a jerk, so I imagine he liked to read and make up stories as a form of escapism. He'd project himself on to stories, like the Arthur one, to try and rationalize his existence and behaviour, which is why he's so angry when the things that may or may not be Arthur and the knights are just boring, normal people, who are tired and selfish and a bit petty, and who still follow someone else (a God) even when they're living legends.
> 
> As for the rest of it, I suck at writing fairy tale-type stuff, but I can explain it away as Daisya being a 12-year-old who sucks at writing and has been lapping up the latest penny-dreadfuls since he discovered them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The late, great Sir Terry Pratchett (not that I could ever claim to be even slightly comparable to him) described his way of building a plot as investigating a valley full of clouds. You see a church steeple, or the top of a high-rise, and you only start to see more as the clouds sink. This particular section is 100% clouds, which is why there's no coherency, or meaning, or point to this whole thing at the moment. At the moment it's just more bad Daisya psychoanalysis.

It had been an uneasy ten minutes as the knights that may or may not have been Arthur's debated, but in the end they had pretty bad taste. The tapestry, now devoid of the Innocence that had kept it intact, had withered into an old rag. It was sort of sad, really, to see how it all faded away. The colours, the writing, the knights — they were all still there, yes, but in grey and faded ochre. Nothing exciting.

Daisya should have been happy to single-handedly get it over with before the akuma came, telling an impeccably crafted tale of sorrow and heroism, but it was pretty boring. Lenalee had taken care of a few akuma who didn't know they were coming earlier, and the rest of them hadn't even gotten a chance to activate. They'd gone down one by one, in piles of dust, without even really putting up a good fight. Just a few flashes of light above the dying heather, smothered in a matter of seconds.

Then he'd met the guy who could've been King Arthur, the stuff of legends, and he'd had to argue with the pious bastard. God this, our Lord that. If some son of a bitch made you live in a boring old tapestry in a boring old castle for an entire fucking millennium, you didn't _respect_ the guy. You hated him. That was how stuff went.

The old man would make him swallow a soap bar if he ever said that, but it was true. Eleven years in tourist town had bored him enough to poke his face full of holes just to try and make something interesting out of it. He didn't know what he'd do if he had to put up with that a hundred times over. All because of some guy in the sky who thought he knew best.

No Kanda to figure out, no Marie to irritate, no Lenalee to play with.

Mind you, it hadn't been just old Artie. There were twelve of them, trapped there. He didn't remember most of the names, but there was Lancelot, and Percy, and probably Lancelot's kid, whoever his name was. It might not have been too bad.

God, then. What about a god? A God? The old man had told him stories about the Roman gods and the Norse gods, but they seemed to be different from the God that the Black Order followed. Those were just humans with lightning bolts and such. Zeus kissed too many girls and Loki just wanted to have some fun. The Order's God seemed to be a lot smarter than that.

The old man said he knew everything, and that he always did the right thing because of that. He didn't look like he believed it. The finders said he was like a schoolmaster: he wasn't that nice all the time, and it was boring when he was around, but you came out of it better off. Though they didn't say that when only an exorcist came back from a mission. Mostly they just sighed, and prayed harder that they wouldn't die. For people who should'a been fine with dying, because it was always the right thing, they sure didn't want to. They never seemed to have much fun.

The exorcists never seemed to talk about it. They just showed up in the chapel when they had to. Kanda just read prayers off of the hymn book. Lenalee and Marie seemed to have something more to say, but try as he might he couldn't quite hear what they murmured. The older three didn't say anything, and Kiki followed Kanda's example. Jeanne and Isaac played chopsticks to pass the time. For servants of God, none of them followed the example very well.

And Daisya? What did he do?

Depends. Some days he recited the multiples of eight as high as he could go. Some days he joined in with Jeanne and Isaac. Some days he was quiet.

The one thing he was sure about, when it came to God, is that he didn't know what to think.

So what if God says he knows everything and is always right. He says that, too, but Kanda never buys any of it. Prove it, Kanda always says.

Let's say God's right. He's good. He sent the old man to whisk Daisya away into a life where he can do whatever he wants, have as much fun as he wants, eat as much shark fin soup as he wants, and no one will tell him to minds his manners or his siblings. God's great! He put Kanda right there, where Daisya couldn't miss him, and hand-delivered a bundle of mysteries that are gonna take _years_ to get through.

So, from what it looks like, the old man's pretty right.

But that isn't the whole picture. Not by a long shot.

If God's so good, then what happened to Kanda? Why does it make him grind his teeth whenever someone saves him? Why does he toss and turn at night and whisper "Alma" like it's a curse? Why is Lenalee so nervous?

Even if he's being petty, Daisya's covered in ugly scars. Sure, he earned Kanda's trust, but why did it have to take that?

Not like he cares, because friends are only really for keeping things un-boring, but no one's going to like anyone that _hideous—_

It was when his heart started to beat in his ears that Daisya decided it was time to stop thinking. His piggy-back cargo, who was sound asleep, might hear it. And besides, he was starting to see weird pictures in his head. One of the older exorcists, with long, thick, matted hair, staring at the stump of her wrist with a kind of disgust.

He always got their names mixed up, but this one was probably Antonina. She had one hand. She liked to grin. Each time she did, it crawled slowly across her face, with an expression in her eyes that made you, just for a moment, expect blood dripping from her mouth. Her hair fell into her eyes, and she sat hunched over at the table, every lunch, every dinner, laughing harshly and too loudly, looking feral. Her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, in sallow skin.

No wonder she looked at herself like that. She was disgusting.

Daisya took a deep breath, swallowed, and reminded himself to take a page from her book.

Then, he tried to think of anything that would force that train of thought off the tracks. God, life, Bodrum, boredom — yes, boredom. That was good. He always thought too much when he was bored, and there was nothing better than complaining about being bored.

"I gotta say, that was really easy."

Daisya stopped it the middle of the road for a moment, adjusting Lenalee's position on his back, then continued walking. He focused for a moment on the dim air around him. It was a brief stretch between coach routes, and it was her turn to sleep again. She'd had a few hours in the early morning, Daisya until mid-afternoon, and Kanda after that. Three people meant enough for one sleeping, one carrying, and one guarding.

"Talk to me, Kanda. Don't you think it was boring?"

Daisya jogged up alongside him. Kanda's long eyelashes fluttered once, twice in succession as he blinked. He was probably still waking up.

"I sure did."

Getting a conversation out of Kanda right now probably wasn't worth the risk, but Daisya was, you guessed it, bored out of his mind. Kanda was as good an antidote as any.

"Whatever," came the weary reply.

It was easy to miss, but Daisya had been watching Kanda long enough to know that this was an invitation.

"Well, there was only one akuma, and the finders had it blocked off."

The crunching of stones under boots coloured the silence between them.

"And Lenalee finished it off for us."

"Yeah."

"We barely had to do anything."

Kanda didn't reply, but the silence that answered was comfortable as opposed to cutting.

"I can't believe they actually thought my story was good. Did you _hear_ it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Kanda! That's rude."

"And?"

Daisya sighed dramatically, and would have thrown up his arms if he'd had them free.

"Why am I even friends with you."

The exchange of comments and quiet replies petered out after a couple of minutes, but Daisya didn't mind. Kanda had given him his relief, and they were all pretty tired — Lenalee had knocked herself out a while ago.

After another couple of minutes, Daisya's thoughts slithered half-heartedly into motion again.

The journey had taken a couple of days, and sleeping had been a bit rough, but…it was so easy. Just a fun little jaunt in the countryside, to fetch some Innocence and wreck a tapestry. No collapsing, no fires, no defenestration.

No excitement, and yet…

Kanda had been so happy, acting sullen all the time.

Lenalee seemed to cheer up anyone within a few metres of her.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the breeze from the sea was warm. Lenalee's breath was a regular pattern to match his own, and the scrape of Kanda's boots.

There was silence, but now he had no need to fill it.

The others just being there was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyy, sorry it's so short, but I'm nearly caught up with the other version of this so I should have the next chapter up soon. I tend to update both at about the same time


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just filling in random bits and pieces, which may or may not make sense or be coherent. Since I've sort of left the dgm fandom (too much drama, too much focus on characters I couldn't care less about, too many people not agreeing with my precise exact interpretation of every single character and having trivial little opinions of their own), I haven't had much motivation to continue, though I've actually written out a good deal more than I've posted. I'll be trying to update a bit more regularly, but I've said that before and then proceeded to not go through with it.
> 
> Speaking of which, trying to write Kanda is really hard (he either turns into a stereotype or I just feel like I'm making him ooc) so please - feedback. Also I can't be bothered to harmonize the writing styles of the two sections so just bear with me for a chapter.

Church, Daisya decided, was boring.

You take this book with people getting nailed to bits of wood, lakes of blood, a lot of fire, a city made out of gold, and this weird monster-lamb thing, and you make it about being nice to people. It was as if this preacher man hadn't read the damn thing before he started talking about it.

He squirmed in his seat, trying to keep himself from picking at his bandages.

The church wasn't that boring, though. The floors were good marble, the old man had said, and you could see your face in them. The surface was smooth and shiny, and made cool noises when you walked on them. _And_ it was alternating black and white squares, so you could even play checkers or chess if you wanted to.

Daisya wondered if there were any chess pieces big enough for this board. Maybe you could play with people? That would be fun.

The benches they sat on were polished, too, and carved up fancy on the ends. There were two arches carved into the sides of every pew, in the same shape as the windows that lined the walls. Around them, the walls put the benches to shame. They stretched so far up that Daisya had to crane his neck to see the top, where the arches met and twined. Nearly every inch of the church that wasn't part of a window was frothy, flowery-looking carved stone, punctuated by plaques, inscribed with the names of the dead. Daisya had read some of the names, a while back, but there were many more he hadn't had the chance to look at.

And the windows, oh, the _windows_ , they were red and blue and gold and purple, with hundreds of tiny pieces of glass crammed into each one. Corpses were mounded on the ground in some, and men and women hunched with yellow orbs — haloes, Marie said — around their heads, like weird hats. They were the important people. There was one in a dark, bloody red cape, and another one with a blue scarf, and so many more in so many colours. Now, and every morning, the sun shone through the pictures and stained the floor all different colours.

Daisya loved the church windows, and drank in every detail, making up stories for each of the scenes. The man with the thorn crown had made it out of a rose bush, twisting the branches together with bare hands so that he could feel the pain, and show everyone that he did. The lady in the blue scarf was a ghost, following the people who were going to die. True or not, he liked his stories. They made more sense than this drivel about believing.

But eventually he ran out, and had to find some other way to say awake.

Beside him, Marie was sitting up straight, paying attention. Either that or he was even better at sleeping upright than Daisya, which could be true. Marie was a kid of many talents. Beside him, the old man was nodding along, as if the preacher was making some kind of sense.

And on Daisya's other side, Kanda was sulking. Maybe Lenalee was out on a mission, so he supposed he didn't have anyone to play with or complain at in Chinese.

Daisya was 90% sure they (Kanda) smack talked him sometimes, so he was learning a bit. Not much. He was trying, at any rate.

"As it says in Kings…"

Daisya let his head loll sideways, half-balanced on his shoulder, and decided to fall asleep.

…

The sounds of boots echoed off the marble as the congregation stood up, and started to file out. First, General Sokalo, followed by a small group of meek-looking adults no older than 30. He wasn't too good with children. Then General Nine and hers, then General Yeager with Isaac. They sat at the front. As the finders started to move, Tiedoll turned to his charges.

"Kanda, could you wake Daisya up? He might get a sore neck, soon."

He looked down at Kanda, who had balanced a book on top of the head in his lap.

"When I'm done," the kid muttered.

"Oh? An interesting book?"

Kanda lifted it up to show him the lettering on the cover: _Jane Eyre_.

"I've got a good book rest."

"Very well."

Tiedoll had to repress a chuckle. Kanda was, after all, a kid. Stood to reason that he'd act like one.

…

When Daisya woke up, he half-expected to be staring at the bare stone wall of his room. The sense of warmth had made him forget for a second where he'd been, but the sight of the wooden pew jolted his memory.

In that case, whose jacket was this?

And, he thought, feeling fingers trace the seams where his bandages overlapped, whose hand was that?

He stirred for a moment, and the hand quickly jerked away.

Kanda's.

Daisya was still sleepy enough not to think much more.

"'s okay," he murmured, "Feels nice."

The tracing sensation returned, at first hesitantly, lulling him back to sleep.

…

"Oooowww!"

The undignified sound echoed up, and off the gothic arches above it. In an abandoned wing of headquarters, Daisya was hopping up and down on one foot. He was also muttering something unintelligible and in Turkish, having stubbed his toe going around the corner.

How he could stub his toe on a block of stone two feet long by one foot wide, he didn't really think about. Actually, as he zigzagged slowly on the path from the chapel to the old church, and back, he'd been pretty preoccupied.

The young-looking bigwig, the glass-maker guy or something, was here. He didn't really see why that was an issue, because the old man and the rest of the Generals dropped by a lot, and General Yeager even lived here, teaching Lenalee and Isaac mostly, and the rest of them too when he wasn't out on missions.

But good ol' Kanda had locked himself in his room and refused to come out, and Marie had spent a good eight hours in the chapel yesterday, poring over a travel guide hidden in a hollowed-out bible. Today it was Frankenstein. Lenalee hasn't even answered her door, so Daisya suspected she was bunking with Kanda. Whoever this guy was, he got the others worried.

Even Jeanne's usually-grinning face was looking pretty grim. She'd taken Isaac down to the training mats for an extended session, and Kiki was sticking close in Antonina's shadow. Together with Dris and Helle, they played a game of bridge in the piano loft. Daisya didn't know how to play bridge, and he was still aching from Kanda's training sessions, so he'd been reduced to wandering around. He'd never been in this wing before, so it was nice to explore.

Like in a church — like that cathedral he'd seen when they were on their way back from Tintown or whatever — his every footstep echoed on the flagstones as he paced lengths around the wing, each time starting and ending with Marie in the chapel.

When, with a final profanity, he finally stopped hopping, he noticed the difference in noises that accompanied this lap of the circuit..

This time, something else echoed. He'd almost missed it in the excitement of a minute or two ago.

His sister was a big crybaby, so he was a connoisseur in the different types of whining to get what you want.

This was none of them. If he had to choose a genre of noise, it wasn't the sucking, snot-covered hiccuping of the brat who didn't get a sweetie.

Actually, he knew this one pretty well. These were soft, hissing sobs of someone trying to not just hide but deny their crying. Figuring that if no one could hear them, then they weren't doing it, and somehow hoping that someone might notice and ask _why_ , if only to be told "no reason."

He decided not to think about how he knew all this, instead softening his footsteps, and veering over to the right side of the hall.

Somewhere in the dusty corners of these old halls that once held so many hopes and wishes, someone was wishing themselves out of existence. It would be a bit rude to barge in.

Still, he had to know.

If only for his own closure.

He peeked around the corner, looking down a hall to where a pair of old confession cells lay. The noise wasn't coming from there, and besides, it was too obvious a hiding spot.

Softly, he padded down about ten metres, looked inside, and walked past, turning left and following the passage as it curved around. The figures in the ornate friezes on wall seemed to be avoiding his gaze, looking down at the corpses of the martyrs or up at the light that must have been shining down. He could recognize a few, now that Marie had tried to teach him. Saint Cecilia, the musical one, and the usual holy family, but he hadn't memorized them like Marie had.

A few metres down, the passage curved again - right, left, down some stairs - and opened into a wide room that might once have been the sanctuary of an older Order. It was a bit like a cross between the main hall and the church, only with the feeling that he shouldn't be here. The carvings on the walls were chipped and eroded, not naturally, but as if the akuma had let loose a barrage on the space. In front of him, he could see a massive old organ, whose pipes were mostly piled up on the floor.

There was, on top of the almost inaudible sound of sobbing, the faint whistle of wind through a smashed stained-glass window.

Daisya stepped sideways into the pool of light cast on the floor by an opening in the opposite wall. Somehow, one of the akuma that must have been here had smashed the halo of the massive west window that stood opposite the organ. Now, the gold light of the sun shone through as it sunk lower in the sky.

Whoever it was that was crying, they were here. He knew it.

Before he closed his eyes, he noticed the almost satisfying smell of old rock dust, cool and clear.

Now the room was hidden to him. All that remained was the sound, penetrating the layers of stone. He wondered how he could have heard it out in the hallway, when it was hidden in layers of stone, like the central cell in an egg. It was here, yes, and very close.

He could feel the weak warmth of the sun on his back, and imagined the dust motes rising soft and gold behind him.

He turned around, into the sun that had blinded him, and stepped forwards.

The figure, hunched at the base of the wall beneath the window, holding its head in its hands and shaking, was Lenalee.

Partly because of the stark contrast between sunlight and shadow, light and dark, Daisya's eyes filled up to the brink.

Lenalee ignored him, instead taking in another strangled breath, for a sob that died on her lips. Almost as if she did not have the strength left to let it grow in the natural crescendo of such things.

It was only now he noticed that the dark splotches spreading out around her were darker red that her torn-up smock or the shadows surrounding them.

A thousand thoughts fought it out in Daisya's mind, working themselves into a maelstrom of _what the hell is happening_.

Kanda's fear, Lenalee's blood, the beggar girl at home they'd found washed up on the waterline, her skirt in tatters and her limbs at odd angles.

He'd heard that Lenalee had already tried to escape this place, by any means possible. Rejecting her Innocence, making use of a broken wine bottle and the Order's high windows. He hadn't understood why. He couldn't understand why. His Innocence was what had _stopped_ him from doing anything that stupid, no matter what Kanda said.

So what had made her like this? What more could happen to her?

Kanda's training. Being pretty. The men in the inn. The washed-up girl. His parents had tried to keep him away, but he'd snuck down to the clinic one night to see what they were hiding from him.

His breath stopped and started, and stopped again. Lenalee looked up at the sound.

They locked eyes.

Daisya thought that maybe, when Kanda's expression closed up over something he was forbidden to see, this was what lay underneath.

Infinite and infinitely painful, like the heavens, frozen and dotted with fire so hot it could shame hell itself.

He tore himself away.

Suddenly, the spell seemed to break. Slipping, falling out of the light, he ran over to her.

"…I'll go get your brother–"

" _No_."

Her premature answer — a statement of how things would be, not a request — cut him off. She'd stopped sobbing, but still shook, hugging her knees and twining her arms and fingers. He could see her muscles tensed, from her neck to her shoulders.

"No."

"What about Kan–"

"No."

She tilted her head sharply to the side, rocking back and forth, and starting to sob again.

The stains on her ankles confirmed that it was not mud but blood that darkened her dress.

"I don't — don't want anyone to…"

Her interruption fizzled out, and she scrubbed at her eyes sharply, like she was trying to erase whatever they had seen.

"Lenalee, tell me what to do."

Daisya spoke quietly, looking down. He knew what had happened. In her position, he would have — would have—

No. He didn't know what he would have done.

"Don't say anything. Don't tell a-anyone."

He nodded.

"Please don't tell my brother."

Daisya nodded again, then bowed, and made to get up. Lenalee wouldn't want anyone—

"And — d-don't go. Stay here."

This at last startled Daisya into looking up, where he met her gaze.

"If you want me to."

Her expression started to harden over as she nodded.

"Yes."

She had decided. Daisya crossed his legs in front of him, turning as as not to face her directly. Marie might get on his case if he missed dinner, but he wasn't going to leave here until he was allowed to.

For half an hour or so, he kept an ear out for intruders. Not many people came here but him, so it shouldn't be a problem, but you could never be too careful.

A bell tolled the quarter hour in another wing, making the Charity Bell echo it. He'd found it could pick up sounds sometimes, if he concentrated.

"Daisya?"

The timid voice pulled him back to the present.

"Yes?"

"Do you know any songs?"

"A few."

A lot.

"Could you sing one?"

"Of course."

She was starting to get a bit better, so he settled on a quick, melancholic melody the twins sometimes sang. He couldn't remember the words, but the music spoke for itself.

Hurt, sorrow, resignation — but laced through the tune — a driving anger.

Lenalee smiled. Not a genuine, vulnerable smile, like she'd given once or twice before now. This one was gentle, but it had nothing to with the emotions racking her body.

Daisya felt a perverse sort of pride. He grinned. Kanda had his scowl, and now Lenalee had found an expression that she could plaster over even the most unsettling situation.

Some sissy might say that they should never have to do that, but Daisya knew better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell was that? Fuck me if I know. But Kanda, Marie, and Daisya have had their share of getting beat up in canon and otherwise, so I figured I might as well go for some variety. Since Lenalee's reaction to Leverrier when she's older is...reminiscent of a certain scenario, I imagine she's not fond of him for a variety of reasons. He seems to have no problem sending kids into battle, so why not knocking them about to teach them a lesson, as was regrettably more common back then.
> 
> Also: verre = glass in French, so Daisya would probably think of Leverrier as the glass-maker, if he'd learned a bit of French. Which he probably would have, because French was the lingua franca (aha ha it's an accidental pun) of the day, and because Tiedoll is French (I think).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much, still just filling in the spaces between plot points I had planned out.

Daisya's steel-toed boots rang out against the stone floors and echoed off the walls as he dashed through the dining hall, skidding to a halt beside the lunch table. He was holding his old beat-up leather football, so he'd probably come straight from a game with someone. Or just from kicking it up against the wall by himself, though Kanda didn't really see the point in that. Daisya, for his part, said that it was the only way he could play with someone good. Kanda did see the point in that.

"Hey, Kanda, the old man's back! Wanna see him?"

Daisya's raucous voice cut through, and Kanda didn't bother looking up at him. At the moment, he was leaning on his shoulder and trying to snatch a bite of his lunch.

"You can bother him on your own. He'll be sticking around for a while."

"Don't want to get gushed over again, my _son_?" Daisya teased, "I can understand."

He finally managed to get a bread roll away from Kanda, and took a bite. At least he was leaving the noodles alone now, Kanda thought. Truth be told, over time Kanda had gotten used to sharing meals between the two of them. Trying to keep Daisya away from food was a losing battle.

"You owe me something at dinner," Kanda said evenly, "I'll take the

"You're so demanding," Daisya muttered, taking a chunk out of the roll. Kanda didn't bother arguing, so he continued.

"Well," he announced, "I'm tired of playing football with you bunch of incompetents, so I'm going to ask the old man for a game. He's actually pretty good, you know."

He picked up a spare fork, and made a final attempt at the rest of Kanda's lunch before getting rapped on the knuckles.

"See ya."

Daisya ran off, and Kanda rolled his eyes.

Somehow, he'd gotten used to Daisya.

…

"So where'd you go? How was it?"

Daisya dribbled the ball back and forth, waiting as the old man geared up; well, actually, geared down. It wasn't too easy to play in all the coats and stuff he wore.

"So many questions!"

"Well, y'ain't been here in a while."

The old man looked like he was going to correct him, but had decided against it. "I don't have time for all of it now, but I did go to Morocco."

"That's in North Africa, right?"

"Yes, well done. And it was colonized by whom?"

"France, I think."

"Indeed. It has some quite beautiful architecture. Very intricate. I would have liked to stay, but my finder did insist on limiting my sketching."

Daisya raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Really? That's _tragic_."

"Yes, I do think so," the old man replied meekly, playing along.

"So what was the mission? I bet there were loads of akuma."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There were a dozen or two, nothing too much."

Daisya pouted, and tried to look imploring. He hadn't raced up the stairs two at a time just to hear about some fancy building the General had visited. He wasn't about to admit it, but the old man was good company sometimes. They'd spent about a year travelling together before coming to headquarters, after all, so he was pretty used to the guy.

" _But_ the Innocence was absolutely fascinating. It was embedded in the body of a dead professor did I mention we visited a university? Anyhow, the poor man kept trying to teach, even though what he was used to teaching was a century out of date."

Only Tiedoll would find that funny, Daisya thought. He rolled his eyes for effect, but it was the old man, so what else did he expect? The dude was so cool when he was fighting, but the rest of the time he was a pretty big nerd.

"Speaking of which, how are you doing with your schooling? I hope you're not disrupting class."

Parents. Old people. They were all the same.

"Nah, I'm fine. Get good marks and everything, _and_ I know where Morocco is."

"Hmm. General Yeager was saying that you don't show up to class too often."

Daisya bounced his football on his knee, then caught it on the side of his foot. Parents always nagged.

"Hey, it gets boring. It's way more fun to study on your own. And I do better than half the kids."

"There aren't too many to begin with."

Most of the time he was a nerd, but the old man could pull out a few tricks once in a while.

"Come _on_."

"All right, all right."

The old man straightened up, shoes laced.

"I do hope you've been practicing while I was away," he said, swiping the ball out of the air.

"You bet," Daisya replied, jumping up to try and retrieve it, "But it's hard to find anyone to play against, so I keep having to drag Kanda and Lena out."

"Is that so? Well, show me what you can do, and if you wouldn't mind, try not to aim at my face."

Daisya managed to snatch the ball away, and grinned.

"Gotcha."

…

The game wore on for far longer than it should have with only two players. When they finally quit, the old man led the game 7-4.

"Very good," he said absently, adjusting his glasses, "I'm glad you've kept practicing."

Daisya smiled back, red-faced with exertion. "Hey, I promised I would."

…

Daisya punched out with his left arm, twisting his knuckles as he did and keeping his wrist aligned. That had been the hard part, after the throws and the stances. A few months of work had allowed him to now start practicing as soon as he got down to the training centre, instead of spending half an hour standing still with Kanda yelling at him.

Not really yelling. Lately he'd been talking like a normal person.

He punched again in a cross with his right arm, concentrating on his wrist. A hook, then an uppercut, and the brief demonstration was done, though whether Kanda approved of it, he couldn't tell. They'd spent a lot of time together in this room, with its plain whitewashed walls and padded mats, so Daisya hazarded a guess.

"Was that good?" he asked tiredly. He'd been trying to get them right for weeks, and it was Kanda he had to impress, so his hopes weren't too high. At least it hadn't gotten boring yet.

His attention jerked back to he present when Kanda narrowed his eyes for a second. Internally, he sighed. _Yay_. Another week of practice.

"It was okay…"

Daisya grinned, feeling a weight lift up and off his chest. Maybe this time he'd get a break from all of Kanda's lectures about defending yourself, knowing how to fight a human, blah blah blah, et cetera. That seemed to be bothering him.

Maybe he found out about what the glassmaker guy did to Lenalee, Daisya mused, or maybe she'd told him.

Maybe it had already happened to Kanda.

"…but you need to practice more on your own time," Kanda muttered, avoiding Daisya's invitation to a high-five. "Don't get full of yourself."

Daisya didn't really care about that last bit. Coming from Kanda, those first words were high praise.

"Soooooo," he started, drawing out the word, "I'm not full of myself already?"

The loud sigh that escaped Kanda showed that he was playing along with the routine, but there was the hint of a smirk on his face.

"Well," Daisya added, "Even if you didn't mean it, you still said it."

"Say another word about that, and someone else will be teaching you kicks," came the reply.

Daisya theatrically put a hand to his chin, and knotted his eyebrows together as if in thought.

"Hmm. Getting taught by someone who won't whack you with a stick all the time? That would be absolutely terrible."

This time Kanda glared properly. He'd mastered at least ten different nuances of the usual stinkeye — annoyed at having his free time interrupted, angry because Daisya had just played a prank, annoyed because Lenalee and Marie weren't there, annoyed that he got outsmarted, pretending to be annoyed to get someone to go away, hiding a smile, trying not to look too tired in the morning, annoyed at getting woken up too early, angry that he'd had to save Daisya, angry because someone had moved too close to Lenalee, and one that he pulled a lot these days that Daisya hadn't quite been able to figure out but that was pretty much unique to him, and many sullenness in this look gave Daisya a twinge of guilt. There wasn't much sense in that, but there wasn't much sense in letting it continue.

"Sorry, sorry. But let's get on with it, if you're going to be teaching me."

Kanda tucked his bangs behind his ears, and swept his ponytail back. He like to fidget with his hair.

"Straighten up first, then. Your weight isn't balanced."

…

Daisya landed a hook on the punching bag in the yard, watching the dust puff up. It was nice in this little corner of dirt, out of the sun, with the bag and set-up they'd dragged out from the training room. He followed the hook with a kick, and seamlessly with another punch. He hadn't learned any particular strings of moves yet, but you could sort of make it flow for yourself if you tried.

He experimented with another flurry of movement, which didn't turn out as well, but no matter. This was actually pretty fun, after a while.

"You didn't twist your wrist on the last punch," said a voice to his left, quietly, "Do it again."

Dutifully, Daisya repeated the move, and added a sharp lift with his knee. That would be more useful if he ever had to fight an actual human, particularly a guy. As usual, Kanda seemed to be pretty enthusiastic about that part of it. By this point, Daisya had decided that something had happened to Kanda to make him feel like that, but who knew what it was? Was it like what happened to Lenalee?

Daisya shuddered at the thought. Strike that. There was a bigger question, here.

Who knew what had happened to make him who he was in the first place?

Wondering about Kanda's childhood didn't get you very far. It was a short track, and ended in a very big sign saying "DO NOT ENTER." He'd travelled with Tiedoll for one year, just like Daisya. He'd met Marie and Lenalee around the time that Daisya had met the old man. That was all Daisya knew, and probably all that he was going to know, but the shadows behind the gate were tempting.

He tried punching again, and noticed the dull pain as his skin wrinkled and stretched, straining where it hadn't quite healed. Damn. And he'd only taken his medicine an hour ago, which should have been okay.

It would take a lot of work to try and open that gate, and even more to bust it down.

Experimentally, he brought his shin up and around in a roundhouse kick. Geez. It was getting more and more annoying, but it did feel kinda good. The pain was like a big, irritating badge that said "not boring."

What else…maybe just a plain old strike? Yeah.

He dealt the blow, trying not to wince when the pain shot through his hand.

"That good enough?" he asked, giving the punching bag a final kick.

Putting one foot gingerly after the other, he turned to face his instructor. Kanda's expression was still pretty dull, but at least he wasn't frowning.

"I've seen worse," he said simply, "Mostly from you."

"I think I'll take that as a yes."

Daisya started to unwrap his fists. Wow, that hurt. The fabric had left imprints on his skin, and overlaid on top of the scars they made inhuman patterns. If he squinted, and turned his head a bit to the left, one almost looked like a fancy drawing of a dragon — just like with clouds. But not like with clouds. Clouds were nice and white and fluffy, but this was red and ugly as hell. Speaking of which, _ouch_.

He walked over to the walls of the little courtyard, grabbed the the satchel he'd thrown down beside Kanda, opened it, and rummaged around. After a few seconds, he fished out a glass bottle of water and another vial of painkillers, downing a couple.

"You take too many of those," Kanda muttered from his place.

Daisya slumped against the wall beside him, and let his breath slow down from its hectic pace. Somehow, it wasn't going down so quickly. Neither was his pulse.

"Hey," he protested, "it's not going to heal for a while. And you don't know how painful it gets when you forget to take your medicine."

The look was there again — the one that Daisya couldn't quite identify — and Daisya hastily backtracked. It used to be a source of amusement to watch Kanda go pale like that, but now it just seemed wrong.

"Well, actually," he drawled, trying to lighten the situation, "You probably do, and you've probably had worse, but let me complain for a few minutes, okay? I can't leave it _all_ for you."

Kanda didn't bother replying.

"And the medicine makes you feel good, anyway. I think it's got poppy seed extract in it, or something. It's healthy!"

He watched, and Kanda snorted irritably.

"You still take too many of those."

"Yeah, and why are you worrying about it in the first place?"

There was silence for a moment. Daisya thought about it, and decided to test Kanda's patience again. This time, he was still going to run as an escape instead of testing his new skills. Pretty soon he'd be able to fight Kanda off.

"Oh, well, take care."

He rocked sideways, planted a quick kiss on Kanda's cheek, and in one fluid motion launched himself forward in a sprint towards the door.

There wasn't enough time to look back at for theoretical fist aimed at his nose, but if he'd had the opportunity, he wouldn't have seen it.

Kanda couldn't be bothered to retaliate, but that didn't stop his expression from shifting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of notes: this time period is a month or two after the end of the first part of this story, give or take (I probably said something about it earlier but honestly I forget what the heck I've written in my own story), so Daisya's burns should be pretty much healed, but with the constant wear and tear he's had from training and actually fighting, they're probably a lot less healed or more messily healed than they should be. As to why he isn't dead and wasn't in a coma back then, Kanda and his blood are pretty useful to have around.
> 
> Speaking of treatments, most painkillers in the 19th century seem to have been opiates, which are pretty darn addictive. The effect wears off, and the biological and psychological need for them grows stronger. Whether he's actually in pain or just misattributing this sensation is up to you, though it's probably a bit of both. Punching is hard on the knuckles.
> 
> Lastly, Kanda has learned that threats and actual violence don't work on Daisya (unlike with Lavi). He has also learned that it's difficult to outrun Daisya when he has a head start, and so it's better to get revenge in other ways (read: sparring).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a detour, to try and see what various other personal problems might develop among those who lead the happy life of an exorcist. Not hugely relevant.
> 
> Just to clarify: Antonina is Russian and about Marie's age; 'Dris and Helle are miscellaneous and the same age, Kiki and Jeanne are French, twins, and a couple of years older than Daisya; Isaac is from the Austrian Empire, the descendant of Sephardic refugees, and younger than Kanda and older than Lenalee. They aren't really that relevant - I just put them in for a bit of variety - so it doesn't really matter that much anyway. Antonina's dialogue is also a bit more stilted than the others', because she was fairly old when she got recruited, and hadn't had much of an education in English or French at that point.
> 
> Speaking of which, the characters here probably speak English or French. Tiedoll is French, if I remember correctly, and French was the lingua franca at the time, but headquarters is in England, so he might have just taught Kanda and Daisya English. I'm just writing this assuming English is the main language, because why not.

Daisya stretched his arms up in the air, letting out a sigh. The lunch table was mostly empty, despite it being only a few minutes past noon. Even the adults' tables were pretty empty, with only a handful of exorcists and a dozen or so finders. They didn't really talk to the kids much, so they weren't much help, sitting on the opposite end of the hall. He figured some of them didn't like kids doing adult jobs, and doing them better, sticks-in-the-mud that a lot of grown-ups were. Or maybe they just felt weird treating kids like they could do stuff. Too much work, for grown-ups.

His parents always had the same problem, but the old man and Marie weren't too bad. Sure, Tiedoll cooed and got soppy, and Marie was barely a grown-up anyway, but sooner or later they didn't bother talking down to you. Well, Tiedoll did talk to you like you were a toddler, but he did that to Marie and the other grown-ups too.

Anyway, there weren't many people left who'd talk to him. Marie and the old man had been away for a while, off with the African branch. Marie's grandparents had lived out in the southeast, a while back. Good for them. But now there was nothing much to do but play solitaire, and stare at the ceiling. Sure, he could read or draw or practice singing or something, but without people it just wasn't _interesting_.

Funny. Back home, it was the people that were boring. Leading the same old lives in the same old shops, selling the same old toys to the same old tourists and sucking eggs at football. He'd beat all the kids a hundred times, and he could just about finish his siblings' complaints for them _because they never changed_. The different plants growing and dying, they were interesting enough. And the sea. And football was always fun, even when you were only playing against yourself.

But here, even if he didn't talk to anyone else, just Kanda would give him a good few years of different reactions and little secrets. He was already this fast-healing super strong kid who hunted demons in his spare time. That was _sick_. Marie used even boring, slow old music like a weapon, and Lenalee had the coolest shoes he'd ever seen. Even after a year with the old man, he still hadn't learned anything about him. Lots about music, though. Reading, writing, and he'd already had a good grasp on 'rithmetic and languages.

So, he had plenty of stuff he could do, but it was nothing compared to the people.

"Say, Lenalee…" he started, just to break the silence.

"Yes?"

"D'you know where Antonina and everyone else went? There's no one here anymore," he moaned, putting his head in his hands, "It's so boring."

Lenalee looked up from her book.

"She's gone to Murmansk with Helle, I think. And my brother just told me this morning that Isaac and 'Dris got a mission in Sarajevo, so they were off before sunrise."

Daisya closed his eyes momentarily, as if reading something off of his eyelids.

"Murmansk," he muttered, "That's pretty far up north, innit?"

"It's in Russia," volunteered Lenalee, "I don't know how north it is."

"Eh, that's north enough," Daisya concluded, "I gotta say, I'm happy it's those two going instead of me."

"You don't like the cold? But didn't you like snow?"

Lenalee folded her arms on the table, and tilted her head sideways. She tended to do that when she was confused, though Daisya wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not. While she did seem to be a bit less innocent than you'd think, she looked pretty wide-eyed with those pigtails. After what he'd seen…well, he couldn't really blame her for getting angry. Even if she did get a bit heated about the Order.

He remembered when he'd been her age, and he didn't want to.

"Oh, yeah, I like snow, but I'm just not used to the cold. We didn't ever have a _real_ winter back home. Didn't even get snow," Daisya complained, "I haven't had a full-on winter yet, but I don't think I'd last too long. You? You seem pretty used to stuff around here."

Looking for something to pass the time, Daisya scanned the lunch tray, picked up a knife, and started to carve something into an apple.

"We're mostly used to winter, here. My brother says it was pretty warm back home, but I can't really remember anything before I came to the Order. I think Antonina's from White Russia or somewhere, and Helle's from Norway, so they should be fine."

"That make sense," mused Daisya, trying to move the knife in a clean circle, "Aaargh, I just wish the spinny lady didn't send everyone away at the same time. It's so _boring_ when no one's around."

"Well, there's me. And Kanda. You don't really talk to the others, don't you?"

Lenalee had tilted her head again, so Daisya shrugged.

"Hey, I talk to Isaac and Jeanne, even if they don't make sense half the time. It's just that I can hear them all when they're telling stories. It's a lot less boring than just sitting and doing nothing when you guys and Marie are away."

Lenalee paused, then nodded.

"But you should at least try talking with the others. They're really nice, once you get to know them."

Daisya grinned wryly, and raised a finger.

"Maybe, but for one, it's hard not to be nice to you. And secondly," he added, raising another finger, "You said Kanda was nice, so I think I'll steer clear for now."

"He just doesn't like to be bothered, that's all."

How in God's name this tiny little girl managed to get Kanda to soften up, Daisya didn't know, but he didn't want to find out. There was definitely some sort of black magic going on with that.

"Yeah, I can tell. Even old Marie's more social than him."

"Marie's really nice, too. My brother says he's just a bit shy."

"You can say that again," Daisya added in a low voice, quickly looking over his shoulder to make sure it was just the two of them in earshot, "Don't tell him I said that. I sorta owe him for accidentally knocking him out once. He's really nice, I agree."

"Don't say it if you don't want him to hear it," reprimanded Lenalee, "He taught me how to play the flute a bit."

"Did he? I guess he really likes his music."

"Yes, he does. He can't see, so music is probably like paintings to him. Or sunrises."

Daisya nodded, and pictured both, then imagined the feeling without being able to see.

"Maybe."

He tried to picture something that stuck in the memory a bit more. Explosions over the harbour. Flames in the inn. Kanda's glare in the half-light of the forest. Marie in a spider's web of silver strings. Lenalee blazing green.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

…

A lively mazurka faded out, the last strains of it flying above the arched corridors of the main hall. Following that, there was the faint scraping of a bench on wood floors, and the closing of a heavy door.

"Okay, that's seven no trump," Daisya figured, "So, two hundred and twenty points. Negative one hundred and forty plus two hundre–"

"It's sixty."

"Okay, sixty points."

Daisya scribbled down the number, and turned back to face Marie.

"Lenalee's turn to deal, I think."

Kanda had already passed the cards over.

"Can I leave now?" he asked sullenly.

"Only if you want to," replied Marie, almost teasing.

"Oh, I want to. Lenalee?"

"My brother wants me to help with some paperwork."

The two stood, Kanda striding off towards the dojo and Lenalee scurrying towards the staircase. Everyone knew that "paperwork" was code for "tea party," and had all agreed that Lenalee was too cute to stop.

A few seconds later, there was a brief flurry of sound when Lenalee nearly collided with another exorcist on their way down. Apologies were exchanged, and the other girl headed towards the players.

"Antonina?" called Marie, who seemed to perk up at the sound of heavy footsteps, "Would you like to join?"

"Of course."

The tall, rough-looking girl strode over to the group, and sat down beside Marie.

Marie dealt cards in a square, with a group three at its centre, after which all players picked up, ordered, and considered. The process repeated itself over and over again in the dining hall, with the players switching out, games ending, high fives being alternately exchanged and ignored. Sometimes it was Jeanne and Kiki against Isaac and Idris, sometimes Helle and Antonina against Lenalee and Daisya, but mostly it was any combination of the exorcists not on missions who knew how to play. Finders and grown-ups didn't normally join in, and played a more complicated game in their own corner of the dining hall.

This new game, for its part, featured Marie and Daisya against Antonina and Kiki. An interesting combination - Daisya was new and unpredictable, and seemed to like huge losses or wins over careful games. Marie was the opposite, and normally ended up with a slim victory on a low bid. Antonina, for her part, never paid much attention, and played aggressively when she had a good hand. Kiki was the most challenging opponent. Her silence ensured she was difficult to read, but her quiet observance of everyone in the Order, not to mention a couple of years of trying to deal with Antonina's moods, had ended up with her being able to read you like a book. She played differently depending on the set-up, rather than choosing a style.

Really, why she followed Antonina around like a lost puppy, Daisya had no idea. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment, or maybe she took pity on the girl. He imagined Antonina could give some pretty good lessons on bareknuckle boxing, from what he'd seen down in training, so there was always that. Or maybe…

He reluctantly tore his mind from whatever wonderland it had wandered off to, and stared at his own cards, biting a lip as he watched Antonina rearrange hers across from him. It was always a bit weird, watching her play. Her hair was at least four, four and a half feet long on a good day, coarse and knotted, and trailed over her shoulders and on to the table. But that was all fine. It was when it started moving and writhing on its own that Daisya's skin crawled.

Antonina's Innocence was a parasite-type, which was all fine and well, but she always kept it partially activated, too. He didn't know how she could do it. She loved to play piano, which might have been why she used it so much, because it gave her the ability to play tougher pieces, probably. From what Marie had said, she also liked to play duets by herself, with the snake-like strands of her active Innocence acting as the _secondo_. The strains of music that flowed out over the cafeteria were hers, Daisya would find out.

And now her Innocence plucked cards out from her hand and placed them back, presumably ordering them by suit. Beside Daisya, the ash-blonde Kiki ordered here by a more conventional method.

"Pass. I must say, there have been a lot of akuma in Russia recently," she commented with a light French accent, "Even Jeanne got paired up with some adults to go up there."

"Six hearts."

Daisya didn't have much else to contribute to the conversation. For all that she was a year or two older than him, Kiki seemed like she was born at age 35. Across from him, though she was staring intently at her cards, Antonina's hair lazily curled itself into a bun. A few of the strands braided themselves, tying the whole thing together, then deactivated. He had to admit, the scars where his hair used to be were not pretty, but _ew_.

"There is a lot of death, up there. I should not be surprised. Six no trump."

"Indeed," Marie said thoughtfully, "There's the cold, and the police beside that. Pass."

Antonina shrugged, and collected the cards in the centre.

"You are not wrong. I apologize, but you have also been given many missions. I have not heard you play quite so frequently."

"Akuma activity has increased. It hasn't been regular for the last while, oddly."

"You should keep playing, regardless. Your Innocence is a gift. It is music."

A strand of Antonina's hair curled around, then laid down an ace of diamonds, and her accent thickened for a moment. From what he'd overheard Kiki saying to Lenalee, this happened when her control was loosening a bit.

"Both of you should," said Kiki diplomatically, "It's been a while since I heard your music too, Antonina."

She didn't once take her eyes off her cards, narrowing them slightly as she switched the position of two of them.

Kiki, the fine-featured French girl, had heard a lot of things. Daisya was pretty sure she could understand why Antonina's hair had uncurled and started writhing. She understood a lot of things, probably. If you sat by her for too long, you found yourself talking, and she would talk back, but her words wouldn't say much. He sometimes wondered if she had other powers besides being an Innocence accommodator. She was interesting, too, but harder to get at than Kanda. He was just angry. Kiki wasn't anything.

" _No_ ," a voice said bitterly, interrupting Daisya's thoughts, "It is not music. We can only try and make it. This Innocence does not create it."

Antonina held her cards using one arm, her Innocence curling down the other. Over the mangled stump of a wrist, it formed the outline of fingers.

"It cannot use the music as it should be played," she muttered, as if unaware that they could hear, "We are nothing that is music."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering if this is going anywhere - not really. I just wanted to sketch out some of the people that Daisya, Kanda, Lenalee, and Marie might have known. Exorcists seem to die pretty quickly, if the manga is anything to go by, so all of them are probably dead by the time the series starts. Child safety doesn't seem to be on the Order's priority list, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: the relationship between Daisya and Kanda remains really hard to figure out, because Kanda swings wildly between pricklier than a cactus, possibly approaching normal, and slightly chilly but respectful. And Daisya, for his part, goes from a cold, pessimistic, narcissist as a child to a cackling, energetic teenager. Trying to write each one IC is something even I don't think I've quite succeeded at, and trying to trace from the initial antagonism you'd expect between them to the obvious friendship in the anime is doubly impossible.
> 
> Again, this little detour is not very good, but this is the end of it.

After a couple of days of searching by himself — Kanda just scoffed, and asked him why he'd want to do that, and Lenalee had politely declined — Daisya found the piano, in an antechamber high up in the Order. Getting it up there would have been a pain, he had to say. The doorway was narrow, and short, opening into a room no more than five, six metres square of white-painted stone walls, patched with plaster. Below his feet, the floor that he now stood on was made of scuffed wooden planks, in need of a bit of repair and a bit of glue. As he walked, he could feel them shift on uneven supports. A small window let in the light of the dining hall, now shining off the honey-brown wood, and let the music out.

The music that was still playing. Antonina was sitting there, on a bench that still rocked back and forth despite the cardboard folded under one leg. Whether or not she'd noticed him, Daisya couldn't tell, but he doubted she cared. Her fingers moved quickly as she hunched over the yellowing keys, spitting out — with one hand of flesh and blood and one of keratin and Innocence —a litany of bitterness as recorded on the sheets in Cyrillic writing. Daisya was a good hand with languages, but he'd never learned much of Russian, or how to write it. It said something about a Paxman…something, but he didn't feel like the song was talking about a guy who went around making peace.

Stops and starts and slow-downs in the music seemed to signal that this was a hard part, so Daisya tried to be quiet. He was pretty sure that interrupting now would be a bad idea. Better to wait. He hadn't spent days in the dusty hallways and crammed himself in dumbwaiters just to leave now, did he?

Antonina finally stopped after a storm of triplets, and a couple of chords that nearly shook the roof down, and definitely shook the dust off a few of the rafters. Slowly, she turned to face him. As usual, it wasn't a pretty sight, but Daisya felt like he was one to talk. Pot, kettle, black.

"What do you want?" she asked sullenly, "It's bad form to interrupt a pianist."

Daisya stayed silent for a moment longer, until he heard the last few vibrations die away.

"Nothing," he said, "I just wanted to find it."

"Well, you've found it," Antonina answered curtly, "Now go away, unless you have something to play. Though I doubt you can even read music. No one here seems to like it."

She started to play a medley of chords that Marie would have been able to identify as wandering between C minor and A flat major, staring blankly at a point Daisya would say was about four inches above the right-hand sheet of music on the piano.

"I'm not great at it, but I can read music. I just can't play it, is all."

Antonina finished off on a perfect cadence.

"What? Who taught you?"

"The old man. Tiedoll. He taught Kanda too, I think, but he can't dance or even tap his foot to a beat, or anything. Mainly I just annoyed the old guy until he gave me something interesting to do — what's so funny?"

Antonina's grin was wide, and almost feral.

"You tried to get Kanda to dance? That's pathetic."

"Yeah, yeah," Daisya sighed, starting to feel more comfortable. Insults were a walk in the park. "He was pathetic, I've got to say."

"No, I mean that _you_ are pathetic."

"Kanda'd definitely say so. But anyway, I can't play music."

Daisya shrugged, lifting upturned hands for emphasis. Antonina seemed to see him like some curiosity, the way her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Hmm," she said, dragging out the sound theatrically, "But you _can_ dance, you say?"

"Sorta. There was nothing much to do at home, and there were some musicians that liked to play jigs and stuff. And we danced at the festivals."

Antonina smiled again, this time softly.

"All right, I can work with this. A dance, yes, I think…"

She launched into a jumping song that conjured up a piano with cracked keys, sitting on wooden slats in an inn full of life and heat against the freezing windowpanes. Funny, how mid-morning seemed to become night. The music filtered into your brain, and brought out all the scenes you remembered from back home or that book you liked once.

Maybe Antonina liked it because of that.

Speaking of memories, they were coming fast back to Daisya. Just after his tenth birthday, the fair they held at the solstice. His brothers fought over who got to give wildflowers to the girl next door and who had to give them to his sister. There was a dancing competition. There weren't any prizes, but he'd gone in anyway. He was the best. He knew it. All the other ones were just tripping over their own feet, but all the football practice had paid off. He hadn't won. None of them liked him. His father'd had to come looking for him for dinner. He'd spent the day up on the cliffs, wandering around. It was better than listening to the same old boring songs and speeches.

He was better than them.

Right foot, left foot, jump, turn around, arm up, take the imaginary girl's hand, start again. Kanda had seemed embarrassed back in…where was it…somewhere in Austria. Anyhow, Daisya couldn't understand why. It was just stepping around, hopping up and down. Kanda wasn't an idiot; he should have been able to do it.

As the music continued, he couldn't help but follow some of the more complicated, well-trodden steps the older kids had taught him; before he got far, the music started to ramble, and change keys.

C sharp minor, A major, B major, F sharp minor, G sharp minor. He couldn't name them, but the spring left his step.

Antonina seemed to have forgotten him standing there.

"Sounds beautiful," he commented.

The pianist laughed throatily. "It always does. It compensates for me."

Daisya felt he should probably say something encouraging. It worked on his sister and brothers, at least.

"But you're—"

"Don't lie."

Antonina's voice fell from her throat like a snake, heavy and writhing down into the lowest register Daisya had heard from a girl.

Too late, he remembered why he'd never tried going up to her before. You never could quite tell what Antonina was going to do next.

"You know what we are," she continued simply, starting to grin, "Tell me, would any boy fall for a woman like me?"

The air that had been easy to breathe a moment ago was suddenly full of dust and debris, ready to coat your throat in plaster. Daisya took the moment of shock to look at her. Sallow skin, sunken eyes, wide mouth, crooked teeth. Thick knuckles on the one hand she had. A rough, discoloured patch of skin where the other hand once was, and a mass of tangled, matted coarse hair that was already shading from brown into grey. But, you know what they say: beauty is on the inside.

Trying to remember her actions, reactions, likes, dislikes, he formed a mental picture of her. Bitter and resentful, obsessing over her music and her own mutilation, loud and careless. She shifted from laughing to sullen in a matter of seconds, and back again, and like now, handed out insults as she wallowed in self-pity, trying to draw out words that she could twist to her own use.

"Probably not."

"Exactly. It's difficult to find some love, like this. You know you would have a hard time finding a girl to like you."

"Hey—"

Suddenly, she reached forwards and wrapped her fingers around Daisya's wrist, pulling him towards her. He froze up — could smell the rankness on her breath, and see the red veins standing out in the yellowing whites of her eyes. The claw-like fingers curled tighter, and a rope of filthy hair bound his other wrist.

"Some advice I have for you: _give up_."

Her own Innocence curled around her neck. She looked like a fairy-tale witch, but suddenly Daisya didn't find them so cool any more; instead, it was terrifying.

"Look at you," she spat, "You're hideous. Underneath those bandages that you like so much, you look like some diseased carcass brought back to life."

The ice was spreading through his body. Hadn't he heard that one of the others had killed someone? Someone's dog? Something real, not an akuma. The tattoo his heart was beating against the inside of his ribs made him sure that _this girl_ had choked the life out of a living thing.

Half her teeth were missing, he could see. White tendrils of scar tissue reached down from her temple, meeting up with the ghost of a slash that had just barely missed her eye.

"But still you have a _chance_ ," she continued zealously, "People don't love people like us, you understand?"

_You understand? You understand?_

Daisya didn't, not really, not as he stared blankly at Antonina. Mom had still worried about him, no matter what, and Dad still chased after him. He'd had more than he'd wanted.

In time, he'd learn that he should have. Sun, moon, distance, burning. He knew. He just didn't understand, not yet.

"I will tell you," Antonina stated, setting down the words in stone, "You will never find happiness. Accept it. You will learn to live."

At last, his chest loosened just enough for him to speak. Even like this, sarcasm was just too tempting to pass by.

"T-that so?"

He could just about see the whites of his eyes reflected in hers. This lady was intense.

"Yes," whispered Antonina, "Then you will survive. Because you will not be me."

She let go, fingers and Innocence uncurling, and Daisya stumbled backwards. He caught himself, but still moved away as if from a fire, trying to rub life back into his wrists.

"Please live."

Silently, she turned away. The only sound that remained was the faint chatter filtering through the halls, and the creaking of floorboards as Daisya hurriedly backed off. The room that had seemed so small and claustrophobic was again illuminated by a watery light, second-hand from the dining hall windows.

Things seemed to _shift_ once he was out of reach. He couldn't say why; it was just the same as the difference between activated and unactivated Innocence. The feeling of fear, of desperation just seemed to dry up.

And funnily enough, it was only once Daisya had stepped away that he could see how she was hunched over, shoulders trembling. He might have said that she was crying, but her expression didn't change, or collapse into a grimace. It was just the same as ever, dull and melancholy, as a few tears spilt over the edge of her eyelids. Still the same blank, dark eyes.

"How about another song?" she asked quietly, turning back to the piano as if nothing had happened, "A jig would rather suit you better than a waltz. I do like them…"

A jaunty melody punctuated her speech. It sprang up, turned on a key, and ended with a nice low hop.

"This?"

Another, slower one drifted through the air.

"Or this?"

Somehow, the fear had drained out of Daisya. She was just like his sister — throwing a tantrum.

"The first one. It's more fun."

"Good choice, good choice," Antonina answered, red-rimmed eyes now crinkling in a smile. "Run along, boy."

Time to go. He knew his sister. The aftershocks from her crying fits could go on for days.

"Thanks!"

He yelled it out over his shoulder, and ran down the stairs.

…

Eight days later, Lenalee had locked herself in her room. Isaac and Jeanne murmured quietly in contrast to their usual loud chatter. Kiki didn't speak at all. Dris and Helle talked more than ever. Marie had gone to the chapel early in the morning, Kanda said, and hadn't come out until lunch. As for Antonina, Daisya hadn't seen or heard her for two days.

When Daisya asked Kanda, he muttered something about a mission in White Russia. When he asked Marie, he got a nice long story about a transfer to the Asian Branch.

Music still cascaded down over the dining hall on occasion, but it was the soft hum of the strings, and not the bright sound of the piano.

…

In the dining hall, there was a corner near the kitchen. Each day, there was a bit of sunlight that shone there. The heat from the kitchen fires meant that it was always warm, and dirt and food scraps had built up there, turning the plaster into a garden for one small weed. It didn't follow the normal pattern of the year, with the odd heat, so even in November Daisya found a few trodden-on yellow flowers growing there. They'd do, for now.

He gathered a few, and picked a couple of the serrated leaves while he was at it. Unlike the flowers, they looked cool.

It was ten days after he'd found the music room, but he was still able to navigate his way to it. It was on a little level between floors, and you had to use the utility stairs to get to it; that or the dumbwaiter. There were a few servants' rooms on the same floor, but not much else.

The door was unlocked — Marie probably left it like that — so he sneaked in, trying not to make much noise. You didn't interrupt a pianist.

Inside, it looked the same as it had. The bench was just off to the side a bit, and a thin layer of dust had settled on the keys. When he reached the piano, Daisya took a moment to think.

Then placed the small bundle of thin-petaled flowers on the keys.

It wasn't much, but it was something. Daisya figured that he owed that much. After all, if no one respected someone while they were alive, then it was due to the dead.

It's what he'd want if he kicked the bucket. They wouldn't know how great he'd been 'til he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation: Antonina became a Fallen One. Like Lenalee, she grew to hate her Innocence so much that her synch rates fell. I wanted to take a look at an exorcist who didn't have any goals in life - Lenalee lives for her brother and her friends, Kanda lived to find Alma and now lives to try and atone for his sins, Daisya lives to have fun, and Marie lives because he's reached a peace with himself and has decided never again to give up. Antonina, on the other hand, doesn't like being an exorcist, and doesn't care enough to want to fulfill the duty of an exorcist. Her Innocence has cost her a hand and a home, and the ability to play as she used to. I find it quite amazing that more exorcists don't Fall, because frankly it's a pretty sucky job. Adding to her list of just general problems is her lack of balance and her belief that she will never be able to form any good relationships because she's pretty hideous, and difficult to get along with, but it's her resentment of the Innocence for all the troubles it's caused her that led to her eventual demise. Not a Good Time, and with the fate of an exorcist generally being death at a young age, not likely to get much better.
> 
> This soooo did not write itself as I'd storyboarded it in my head and I'm unsatisfied with it but it ends up having a tiny bit of thematic significance later, so I just have to put it out here and hope no one notices the bad pacing. Anyhow, back to regular programming hopefully within the next week.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say; this is just another filler chapter to try and explore more of our two main characters' personalities, because I can't get a grip on Kanda to save my life and it's a constant struggle for me to keep Daisya in the sweet spot between 'entirely 100% canon traits and no more' and 'not canon at all but reasonable extrapolation from canon evidence'. For now I'm just going with what would happen if he'd been overjoyed by finding such a non-boring life after a tedious childhood, but also retained the more self-absorbed/lonely traits that he had when he was a narcissistic jerk of a child. Thank you all for reading, whether you provide feedback or not!

Kanda almost lazily folded Daisya's wrist over on itself, and pushed until he heard the slap on the padded mat. It echoed around the empty dojo.

Hmm. Daisya had lasted pretty long that time. Maybe he was getting better.

"That was pathetic," he declared, stepping back, "Do it again."

"Aw, come on!"

Daisya pulled himself back up into a defensive stance, interlacing his fingers and pushing them out before bringing his hands back into position.

"That screwed up my wrist a bit, I think."

Or maybe not.

"Should've given up earlier," Kanda shot back.

They settled back into a comfortable rhythm, shifting their weight from one foot to another, setting up to move as soon as the other attacked. Hand-to-hand combat was harder than it looked, and over in a few seconds. Daisya needed to learn that there weren't going to be any second chances in a real fight.

"Maybe, but it didn't hurt too much earlier, actually. Were you going easy that time, or what?"

" _You_ were the one going easy. Just shut up, and actually try this time."

"You sure you want me to?"

…

Kanda seemed to have decided that Daisya was ready to demonstrate some of his hard-won skills, but so far each match had ended with Kanda's fingers on a pressure point and Daisya at his mercy. Bo-ring.

Daisya didn't really see the point in martial arts. If you were going to be in a real fight, it was stupid to take ten seconds to get into a good stance, and follow all the rules. Why did Kanda like 'em so much? Even Lenalee was more exciting, because she never bothered with rules about what you can use to hit what. She'd tried to bite him, in one match. All that soft-voiced sweetness was a big fat red herring to distract you from the vicious little brat in the dojo every morning. Why couldn't Kanda manage that level of interesting this time? Normally he was a pretty safe bet when Daisya was bored.

Well, Daisya thought, aching in a dozen places, he was going to show Kanda that the rules were _made_ to be broken.

…

Daisya was playing too much by the books, thought Kanda. He was trying to fight like someone who actually knew what he was doing, and it made Kanda angry. He'd be useless the moment some guy with a problem walked up to him. No one liked exorcists, not even other exorcists. They had too much to answer for.

Kanda let himself take a few deep breaths. Somehow, the healing that had kept him alive at the Asian Branch kept him from needing as much air. It was only after a while that he started to tire.

No one else was in the dojo as he and Daisya watched each other, ready to latch on to any hint of movement in the other. For a while, he'd been looking for an unconventional opponent, after he and Lenalee and Marie had gotten used to each other, but this one was just the same. And yet here they were.

It wasn't like there was anything better to do. Daisya at least shut up when you fought him.

Kanda spoke.

…

"Go."

Daisya punched out with his left hand, and stepped forward fluidly with his right foot to bring up his left knee, timing it so that his second attack hit as Kanda blocked his first.

But, as always, Kanda had anticipated it, kicking out his left foot to knock Daisya off balance. He attempted to double the damage with a right hook, but Daisya had already planted his foot and shifted his stance, so that he was able to spin sideways, aiming an elbow at Kanda's ribs.

Kanda kicked out again, but Daisya was quicker this time, and spun around to aim a fist at the base of Kanda's skull as he lunged forward.

From there it went into a brawl. What Daisya lacked in strength, he made up for in sheer creativity of technique. Most of it consisted of trying to run around the opponent instead of facing off, and using the arsenal of knees, elbows, occasionally heads instead of the more traditional fists and feet. Instead of waiting to execute a textbook move, he lashed out at every opportunity, not bothering to distinguish between feints and accidents. He grabbed at Kanda's hair, and tried to pull him down when he was thrown to the ground. It was thoughtless, blind, and animal, but somehow his instincts were as good as Kanda's. It wasn't good, it wasn't elegant, it wasn't skilled, but it was something new.

…

Now, this was something _new_. Kanda took every blow hungrily, and countered them at lightning speed. Daisya was focusing on speed as opposed to brutality. Hah, he'd have thought as much. He was going easy before. He was going to pay for that.

…

At long last, Kanda threw Daisya down, and caught his breath.

"Your strikes are weak."

"Yeah, yeah," Daisya panted, "Could ya let me up, now?"

Kanda removed the foot from his back, and pulled him to his feet.

"You were going easy on me before, idiot."

"Hey, you gotta admit that was pretty smart, 'cause that meant you wouldn't be going full strength on me."

"It was still stupid, because you were annoying me."

Daisya laughed, and raised his arms disarmingly. "I don't think I can avoid annoying you, ya know?"

Kanda shrugged, taking out his ponytail to retie it, if it could even be called that after the fight.

"Hell if I know. I'm not going to be wasting much more time on you."

The Faces of the Kanda wasn't a book Daisya was ready to write, but he was fairly sure that he'd seen Kanda smirking a moment or so ago, which was probably a good sign. A grin appeared on Daisya's face, accenting the flush of exertion.

"Yeah!"

Daisya pulled a celebratory fist down through the air, and Kanda rolled his eyes.

"That doesn't mean you're good at it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Drunk on opiates and adrenaline, Daisya threw his arms around Kanda's neck in a hug.

"But I still did it!"

Kanda tried to kick his feet out from under him, but Daisya sidestepped.

"See? Am I right?"

Daisya's intoxicated smile was at odds with the marks on his face.

Kanda had no choice but to scowl.

"Tch."

…

The night is another country. Its people are all very nice, very much like us, nothing against them at all, but they just aren't _quite_ normal. Something takes hold of them that makes them behave very differently from what is good and proper. Not that there's anything wrong with that; so long as they're not doing anyone any harm, that's what I say.

…

Yuu — Kanda — walked hesitantly, like a deer about to bolt. It had been a long time, in his short life, since he had seen this place.

Not long enough.

The hallway stretched on, and he could name everyone's rooms. Edgar, Twi, himself and—

The blue half-light of evening was the only thing illuminating this part of the Asian Branch, stretching on into infinity. It had only been a year or so, but already it seemed like forever. He didn't have years of childhood to remember and dream about, like Marie and Lenalee, or to complain about, like Daisya. Yuu, or Kanda, or whoever he'd been in that time before, didn't have much to his name. A field, sunlight, darkness, and a sense of _someone_ were all he had left from one life.

In this life, what he had to fall back on was the Asian Branch. He wasn't sure if it was something to hold close or something to throw to the ground and burn, here and now.

Chipped flagstones. Doors upon doors. The same vaulting hallways and high, arched windows as the European Branch, but so, so different.

Alma was here.

Without seeing it, Yuu knew it. He might not have been sure of his own name, but the self that existed here was certain. Behind him, closing in, was a laughing, crying child with one grotesque wing.

No no no no nonono _nonono_

His feet stood heavy, still on the cold stones. The light, just enough to make shadows move in the corner of his eye, seemed sticky and stagnant, clinging to his skin.

Now, floating above his body, he saw Alma limping towards him, footsteps black with _blood_ —

Marie.

Somewhere here, Marie was hurt. He'd save Marie. He'd save them both. He could still get out. He had to. He had to go get Marie.

He could barely see, in the darkness, could barely hear, couldn't feel anything except the knowledge that Alma was there and coming closer.

Run run run run run _run_

Alma walked slowly towards him, even as he tried to force his leaden legs to move. This body belonged to one Yuu Kanda — the one in the dream, who would not obey the one watching.

"Hey, Yuu!"

The words, crackling at the edges, broke the silence, slipping like ice down the back of Kanda's neck.

Finally, he managed to take a step. Here, he decided, he was Kanda. Tiedoll's apprentice, alongside Marie and now Daisya. Just one foot in front of the other, just that was what he needed. He needed to run.

Now.

He didn't know what would happen if Alma caught up. He'd always woken up before then.

But somehow the air turned to treacle, and trapped him, moving far too slowly to ever escape, or find Marie.

The air in his lungs was starting to freeze up; his muscles were burning, but he couldn't go anywhere. He couldn't move, not really, and he couldn't see Alma. He just knew that he was right behind him, meandering and still catching up.

_Not again_

"Come on, Yuu!"

_No_

He could feel Alma's breath on the back of his neck, and his own hurried, arrhythmic pulse.

 _Marie—help_ — _help me_

"Yuu, I'll be so _bored_ without you."

Kanda whipped backwards, and stared into a smiling face, with two marks curving down its cheeks.

…

Kanda's feet landed softly on the stones. Even in the pitch dark, he could find his way. The iron railing was ice cold against his clammy hands.

The circle staircase was an old familiar friend, one that he'd visited at night when only the crickets were awake. He ran up the stairs, breath shallow, and past the doors. Lenalee. Isaac. Daisya. Jeanne. Kiki. 'Dris. Helle. No one, not anymore. Marie.

It was a wonder he got any sleep at all, with his hearing.

Kanda came to a halt, planting bare feet firmly on the stone. His right hand made a fist around two corners of the sheet he'd pulled around his shoulders as a cloak, to keep off the chill. Wordlessly, he knocked twice.

No one had complained about getting woken up yet, but he still kept quiet. Better to examine the door for a minute.

There was one knothole, too high for him to reach, that you could look through. Chances are, Marie had blocked it up. Down here, the door was more worn, and marked with bootprints. During the day, Kanda didn't have as much subtlety.

When it opened, the door distinctly made no sound. Marie knew the true value of silence. The lack of a squeak was more noticeable in the Order than a loud one.

Even in the dark, Kanda looked up silently into Marie's blank eyes. He didn't need to say anything. His breathing spoke for him.

He had been here, on the doorstep, looking into the room, many times before. He knew it like his own. A rudimentary phonograph, in the corner. A bed. A bag. Not much else. Marie had liked to read before, Tiedoll had told him, but now that wasn't an option.

Marie stepped aside, letting Kanda in, and quietly closed the door. The slight change in his expression, from calm to worried, was almost unnoticeable in the dark. He watched Kanda drag a straw pallet from under the room's solitary bunk, as well as a few blankets from the pile of spares. Marie had had a few more in the pile since about a year ago, when he'd pointed out that he'd grown up in a much hotter climate.

Most people believed him. They wouldn't know he'd grown up in Austria.

Kanda threw the pallet down behind the door, and curled up on it in a nest of sheets.

"'Night, Marie."

"Good night, Kanda."

Marie had left his family behind long ago, and had not looked back.

Not often. Loath as he was to admit it, he had to be an exorcist. He couldn't go back to a normal life, not after losing his team. Nor could the other. He doubted that any of them could live without the constant rush; it was as addictive as any drug.

But sometimes, he wished that he could take Kanda and the others away, to a place where nothing could ever find them, or hurt them, ever again.

"Hey—"

He tensed as something clamped around his ribcage. He hadn't noticed the sound of Kanda's feet, or the wet edge to his breaths.

"—Marie."

"Yes, Kanda?"

The child sniffed, and exhaled to steady himself. Marie would call it a hug, but Kanda held on like a drowning man clinging to a raft.

"I'm not going to let you die."

The words hit like bullets. No child should ever say that. Not like this, knowing that death really could come tomorrow.

He had never asked Kanda about what had happened at the Asian Branch, before they met. He knew enough. He knew he had been close to death.

Not just close to death, but willing to die.

He knelt down, and hugged Kanda around his narrow shoulders. For all his strength, he was still just eleven.

"Don't worry, Kanda. I won't die. I promise."

…

There were days when the rain came down slowly, as if the sky had been hung out to drip and dry. Then there were the normal rainy days, when someone had turned on the celestial shower. Less often, rain squalls came through, wringing out the rags and dumping a few buckets before sweeping off to some other place.

And then there were the _storms_.

Two or three of the five layers of clothing Daisya had on were already soaked through. This rain was coming down thick and fast, cycling through lighter and heavier stages, as if it could barely keep up with itself and had to stop for breath.

Each drop struck hard enough to bruise bare skin, or so it seemed, puddling water on the ground before it could drain away. You could see a thick skin of it, splashing up where the new drops fell. Sometimes, the wind would gust hard enough to make ripples on the surface; sometimes, it would even blow the water over the edge of the puddle. The slurry had already worked its way into Daisya's boots, slowly filling them with mud.

He stood alone on a patch of tamped-down dirt, a training field out the back of the building that was headquarters, under what should have been a pitch black sky. As far as he knew, everyone else was either working, fast asleep, or pulling their pillows down over their ears to muffle the sound of rain.

They just didn't _get_ it.

Lightning struck, outlining the stark silhouettes of spruce and oak. Reflected in Daisya's wide eyes, the world turned white.

This was when you could feel alive. Dreary grey skies, unforgiving cloudless blue — they chased each other, day after day, sucking out every ounce of energy you had left. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It'd make some healthy young guy want to slit his wrists, it was so boring.

Thunder cracked, as if the very mountains had split. Heavier than basalt scraping lead, it crushed the pounding rain beneath it.

Daisya smiled in bliss, listening to the sound crash down.

This wasn't boring. Not at all.

Without really knowing why, he reached up to grab a drop. He spotted one, made sure to snap his hand shut around it just at the right moment, and closed his fingers around it.

Somehow, it sliced between them.

The sight of the raindrop escaping, only to crash to the ground a moment later, was a funny sight. Why not just take the easy way out, and die in the hand rather than on the ground? Why go to all that trouble?

Because it's _exciting_ , that's why.

Laughing, he spun around, arms outstretched like a kid discovering snow for the first time.

He loved the rain. It chilled him to the bone, sliced and hit, and ended up getting him a talking-to, nine times out of ten. Too wet. Shoes ruined. Out of the house past midnight, young rascal. But hey, back home it didn't rain very often. It was worth it.

Lightning, again, and the crack of splitting wood. Daisya could see the wood sending up smoke as the wind whipped the trees into a frenzy.

He loved the rain. It made him feel alive.

And to rain so heavily, with lightning and thunder and all the trappings of a good thunderstorm, he almost felt like it loved him too.

Something in his chest hurt for just a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the reason I've unfortunately neglected Marie is that if I think about his and Kanda's relationship for more than about ten seconds, I get really sad. Marie for best older brother and Kanda for not the worst younger brother 2k16.
> 
> You know, I'd sort of like Kanda to die before the end of the manga, just because he'd finally be at peace, but for Marie's sake alone I also want him to be alive and happy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've overdone a lot of things in this fic, and this chapter it's the italics. The descriptions here aren't meant to be accurate at all to the Opera Garnier (I'm using the alternate universe excuse), but are cobbled together from the various auditoriums and arts centres I had to scurry about in as a small choirgirl. The Mystery of Udolpho is the book that Marie was reading. There are fifty pages, if not far more, in that book describing trees. It was a long slog.

It was like some sort of underworld, Daisya thought as they passed silently through the door. People's souls would be caught here, lost in these twisty, twining hallways.

They never stayed straight for more than a few metres, and they were covered in black cloth and posters and notices and pins. There were only bits and pieces where the actual walls, brick and stone with bits of wood and plain mortar to patch up the original, showed through. They sure seemed to be messy; if the rest of the place was like this, it would be a nightmare finding the Innocence.

If it was in one of those sheets of paper, they'd be here 'til next autumn, or the one after that! You could barely even read them, it was so dark, let alone try and count them.

Oh, there was a lamp here and there along the low-ceilinged corridor, and the hunched old man that let their little group held one up, but it was dingier than a nighttime alley. And the dust, the _dust_. There seemed to be more of it here than there was back home in the heat. Daisya was amazed there weren't plants growing in the curtains. They were already home to a few colonies of molds and mildews. A black-tinged one here, a green spot there, curtains, curtains everywhere.

They were thick and luxuriously velvety. And they really were everywhere. This place had enough little rooms to be a honeycomb, and it looked like no room was complete without curtains blocking it off and some sort of rug. And a whole bunch of dust. Maybe the old man would know something about it.

"Hey, mister, why're there so many curtains?"

The pallid old man had called that tone of voice a stage whisper, when he gave them their lecture at the beginning. Sort of appropriate, considering where they were.

Daisya had only ever _heard_ about opera houses from Jeanne and Kiki. They said they used to be in training for a ballay core, or something. Jumping around in frilly dresses, getting beat up by the master, all that girly stuff.

Then, well, something had happened. Something alwasy happened. You found some Innocence and then the akuma came. If Daisya had learned one thing at the Order, it was that he was pretty lucky.

Or, at any rate, he should have been lucky.

His mind clicked back to the present, and he noticed the man hadn't answered.

"'Scuse me," he repeated, more loudly, "What's with all the curtains?"

"Silence!" was the cracked reply. "They block the sound, and we wouldn't _need_ them if there weren't brats making noise, wouldn't we?"

Or old men coughing and wheezing like a bellows.

It made sense, but Daisya didn't bother to grace the guy with a reply. Something else had caught his eye, in a dressing-type room off to the side.

This place was full of _stuff_. Every room had a piano, or a few music stands, or a rack of these ridiculously puffy dress-things. They looked like a tank top sewn on to a cloud.

Even though she didn't think anyone could see her, Daisya had noticed that Lenalee seemed to have her eye on those. After all, hadn't she been complaining about her uniform getting too small? She was saying she'd like a nice skirt. Apparently trousers just chafed and got in the way. Oh, and here in this one was a dummy wearing a few yards of lace. Could anyone wear that? Wouldn't it be see-through? How did they hold it up?

Daisya tore his eyes away after Kanda elbowed him in the ribs, and hopped back up front, behind the old man. Mrs. Branch Chief had told him he was going to have to take some stupid leadership role on this one. He suspected Kanda had been complaining.

Someone scuttled past, muttering "excuse me," and Daisya's head whipped around to follow them. Was that a sword? A cool sword, with fancy designs? Not like Kanda's boring old—ouch! Hey, that one hurt!

Okay, okay, back on task. This place was way too full of things to look that weren't an old, torn, and worst of all, paisley-patterned waistcoat stretched over some old dude's hump.

Oh, and there were always _those_ people that passed them, all done up in face paint and fancy clothes so that they looked like dolls. Daisya was temped to try on some of the coats — they were all lovely and long and looked like something out of those books that Marie liked to read — the mystery of something or other.

He could hear Lenalee and Kanda muttering behind him, about the hair bow on that one girl. Daisya couldn't really get what all the fuss was about. He didn't have hair problems, by virtue of not really having hair anymore. It grew in patches, and if he didn't cut it off it was always held down under the bandages.

Mystery of a dolphin, that was the book's name. At any rate, that's what it sounded like. Daisya had tried reading it, but fifty pages it in was still nothing but describing trees, so he'd asked Marie what happened next. Apparently a lot of things. He hadn't kept track of it all, but that Montoni guy was a right bastard. Pretty clever, though. The type to have a nice coat.

He caught another snatch of music, this time violin. Jeanne could play a bit, but nothing like this. Her fiddling always sounded like her — a bit low, and a bit rough, slightly like someone chuckling. And it went really fast.

This one was delicate, though it still was pretty darn quick. Sounded like someone was having a fainting fit while they were playing, or like someone made the violin out of the same stuff as Jerry's fancy china teacups. Sort of nice, you know.

Beneath the heavy red curtain, as they passed the source of the sound, he caught a glimpse of the player. A woman old enough to be his mother in a pitch black dress, bow moving fast enough to blur. Then again, most things blurred in this cruddy light.

A rough tug on his sleeve pulled him away as they turned another of the myriad corners.

"Quit zoning out, space case," Kanda muttered. "We're on a mission."

"Don't need to remind me."

Daisya caught a glimpse of the man looking back. He was frowning hard enough to add another few wrinkles. There were so many that you'd almost lose a weaker expression in them.

"I said _silence!_ "

The guy was trying, but it was pretty hard to shout when you were whispering.

Pity Jeanne had to stay in Algiers for another week. They could really have done with someone who knew the territory.

Here the carpet was a bit thicker, a bit more plush underfoot. For once Daisya wished he wasn't wearing boots, so he could enjoy it a bit more. Even cheap rugs were miles better than the flagstones at the Order.

They must have been going somewhere important, because there were more lights here, too. And better quality ones, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daisya thought he saw a lady standing beside him, and paused for a moment to take a look.

Three curtained walls, a dress on a mannequin, good thick carpet, and no one there.

But there was something…

There was that blurring again. There weren't any lights in the room, but the wooden mannequin seemed to blend into the background in this light. Or…

No, there was something. If he could just squint, and turn his head like _so—_

"Daisya?"

Lenalee tapped him on the shoulder, throwing a glance to Kanda ahead.

"Kanda's given up. It's probably better if you start walking."

"Right," he whispered.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away, but there was something not quite right there. It was like there was no time, not in that room.

A few metres on, a set of rickety wooden steps rose out of the ground, spiralling upwards.

"Come on, we don't have all day."

Even though he sounded like he was going to become one with the dust any moment, the old man was still pretty spry. Daisya found himself panting a bit, climbing up and up. Of _course_ , Lenalee and Kanda didn't have any problems. This was why he liked working with Isaac or Jeanne on these types of missions. They were even spacier than he was, and Isaac in particular like to dawdle. Daisya was a model — well, not model, but slightly quicker exorcist by comparison. He could read words and music, and count.

Then again, Isaac could draw. And his family actually liked him. And he liked his family. Weird, weird kid. No wonder he and Jeanne hung out so much.

Up and up and up, the stairs went on forever. It was a bit worrisome how much they creaked, and how many steps had a plank or two missing.

The curtains, too, looked like they were velvet rain. They hadn't been there on the underground level, but they went up from about seven feet above there along the whole height of the staircase — ten metres? More? These ones were a bit thinner, probably to support their weight.

The finder — that was what the old man was, despite having been half-retired for years — finally stopped at the top of the staircase, and put a hand out to the woman standing at the top.

"Well, these are the exorcists, mister. You want to tell 'em anything?"

Okay, maybe the person wasn't a woman. But when he spoke his voice was still mid-range, and soft.

" _They're_ the exorcists?"

They got that a lot. After all, Lenalee was still only nine and almost a half, as she insisted. They still looked like kids.

"All we could spare. They've got another mission in Denmark, so best we be quick about it."

The young man nodded. It was pretty hard to tell him apart from he black curtains — he had black shoes, black socks, black trousers, and a loose black shirt on. He was so much darker than the pale old man, in this light, for him to almost seem black as well. A bit like Idris.

He also seemed to be important enough, but not in terms of position. One of the people who keeps things running. He'd know and notice more than whatever bastard was running this place.

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "I…don't really have too much freedom to let you investigate, but I can allow you to watch from the wings during the rehearsal. The Prima Ballerina was the one who first complained about feeling odd, but I'm not sure if it was that or just the pressure getting to her. We're more concerned about…uh, side effects."

And here was another squeamish guy who didn't even want to mention akuma.

"So how many people've died?" Daisya asked dryly. Get to the point already, man.

"Um," the young man said nervously, "I'm not quite sure. You see…"

"I bet the dust just blends in with–"

A combination of an elbow in the ribs and a high-heeled foot-stamp cut off Daisya's muttering.

"…many of the people that come here — gentlemen in particular — they don't exactly return to their primary residences after the performances, so it's useless asking if they've been home. Frankly, if there are any…things here, I think they're more subtle than what you normally deal with."

"So what do you want us to do about it?" Kanda asked.

"We can't exactly do anything until we know the facts," Lenalee added.

The man — Daisya had settled on "head stagehand" — nodded, and fidgeted some more.

"Yes, I'd think so. I think you three might know a bit more what to look for. I've pulled a few strings, so I think we can allow you to watch the performance tonight, provided you don't make a fuss."

"Got it."

"Of course."

"Yeah."

Daisya's answer was first, with Lenalee on his heels and Kanda dragging behind. The stagehand nodded in reply.

"I see. Just try and get this over with quickly."

"We will," Lenalee answered.

It was a bit weird, how high her voice was compared to the stagehand's, when he was the one going to her for help. Then again, Daisya surmised, they were all pretty young-looking.

And young in general, to most people.

"Well, don't just stand there!"

The old finder was scuttling back down the staircase. He must have been made out of sinews, because there definitely wasn't enough muscle there to power him through all of that.

After Lenalee, Daisya followed, trying not to step in any of the holes. Whoever used these steps on a regular basis had to have a death wish.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: doesn't even bother to look up Tintagel castle and makes up a description on the spot, using 'alternate universe' as an excuse
> 
> Also me: looks up history of caffeine to see if it had been named and discovered as of the late 1800s so that I can have Daisya use the word 'caffeinated'
> 
> Sorry for the irregular updates, but it's not going to get much better soon - I can't quite get this section as I'd like it to be, and right now I'm sewing scraps of arcs together instead of bothering to write a coherent narrative. Oh well, I hope you guys enjoy, read, and even review!

Daisya sat back comfortably in his seat, and fiddled with the pair of binocular-things they'd given him. They called them opera glasses, but they were nothing like the old man's glasses. They were just a pair of skinny binoculars on a stick, with a bunch of blue and gold enamel. He could see why you needed them, though. Even with younger eyes, he had to squint to properly see what was on the stage. And most of the people here were as old as the pale-skinned finder.

Of the three of them, he'd had the deepest voice and been the tallest, so the old finder had kitted him out with one of those nice coats and a fancy mask, to hide the tattoos. He was rushed up, and seated in one of the boxes they could afford not to sell. If anyone was acting fishy in the audience or on stage, he was supposed to notice. Kanda was downstairs, in a dress serving drinks, and Lenalee was wearing a small version of the smooth-voiced man's black outfit and was running around the stage with the rest of the stagehands. They'd decided her small size and nimble feet would suit the job better than Kanda's brute strength.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to anything, but the three of them had agreed that if an akuma came out, Daisya would be the first to attack. He'd send out a low-level wave of damage, and Kanda and Lenalee would try to take it out. The thinking was that Daisya could paralyze it first, so that they could prevent collateral damage, and have an easier time of fighting in such an enclosed space.

As for the Innocence, it was a toss-up as to whether or not there even was any. There hadn't been a whole lot of disappearances or deaths, so there might not have been any there, but there were enough for it to be a possibility. Akuma normally didn't show themselves so brazenly unless there was some involved.

Lenalee had the best spot to try and figure out if there was any Innocence, but Daisya was also supposed to keep a lookout. That's why Kanda had made him go ask for some opera glasses in the first place. They were pretty to look at, but when you were actually using them they looked damn stupid. It gave all those high-class old folks the air of stick insects.

This show that they were putting on tonight was a ballet. Daisya had learned just a few minutes ago that it was actually spelled with an "et" instead of an "ay." Anyhow, the ballerinas were the ones with the fluffy skirts and skintight trousers. Try as he might, he couldn't imagine either Jeanne or Kiki in either of those. Jeanne couldn't be separated from her baggy old trousers. She liked them with lots of pockets for interesting rocks, and she always tucked them into her boots to keep the ends from getting mud on them. Kiki, on the other hand, really liked leather leggings and a long chain mail tunic. Said it was practical. She was probably right, after all. Kiki normally was.

He brought his mind back to the present, which was actually pretty nice. The seats were comfy, even though they were dusty, and they had someone pour you a nice coffee at the intermission apparently. Daisya liked tea best, but anything caffeinated would do in a heartbeat.

A quick dimming of the lights across the hall caught his attention, and the murmur of patrons' voices hushed. Two circles of light veered over the seats before coming to rest on the tall curtains at the front. Daisya guessed this signaled the start of the show, and watched expectantly as the curtains were drawn aside, and the spotlights came to rest on centre stage.

The ballerinas came prancing across the stage now, and a couple of boy ones came on wearing those trousers that looked really painfully tight. They probably called them "tights" because of that. The dancers drifted between lines and circles, then clusters, then duos, hopping around and waving their arms. It was all very nice, but the music was too slow, and it all felt a bit stale.

The stagehand had said that there was one ballerina, the Prima ballerina, who'd be wearing a better costume, and that she'd be coming on later. Apparently she was the one that was noticing the weird stuff first, before the akuma started to attack. Maybe her dance would be more interesting.

He sat back in the red velvet, watching the ballerinas on stage and the curtains at the edge of his vision. Akuma were attracted to exorcists, just as they were to Innocence.

The music had changed, and now was pretty damn nice. Sort of familiar, though. Maybe the same composer as what Marie played, or something.

Something…

A burst of music signalled a change in tempo, and a ballerina came spinning out from in the wings, wearing a more elaborate dress from the rest of them. The Prima, probably. Her moves were more elaborate, and there was something else about her.

Music forgotten, Daisya whipped the opera glasses to his face, and winced as he accidentally hit himself on the bridge of the nose.

She was certainly dancing, just like the others. But that wasn't what made her stand out.

The dress.

It had been in that room. The weird one.

Daisya watched intently as she swirled in time to the music. For just a moment, her movements seemed stiff, arms moving perfectly in time, but with a hint of jerkiness, of mechanical movement. When the other ballerinas fell slightly behind, she stayed perfectly in place, not affected by anything on or off the stage, not even a small lag in the tempo of the music.

Without time. That was what it was like. There was only the ballerina, the music, and him, all alone.

The ballerina, whose room was haunted.

The music, hauntingly familiar.

And Daisya, trying to remember who had once played this tune.

Marie? Yes, he played music on his strings, echoing up and down the hallways, and warm and liquid as sunshine, no…

Not Marie.

All he could hear was Marie's strings, but there was something beneath it.

Something that was only as distant to him as where he'd put down his jacket, or where the old man had left his glasses, but that seemed too important to forget like that.

He wasn't supposed to go to this place, his mind warned him, don't turn down that corridor _don't–_

The stones of the hallway melted into each other. His mind was his own version of headquarters, complete with endless pale grey hallways, the colour of a rainless cloudy day. He didn't like it all that much, but it was how he found things. In the broom closets, in the room that could have been Lenalee's. Kanda never let him in, but there was still a closed door that might have been his.

It was somewhere above the dining hall. Somewhere in a little alcove, this music that sparkled like snow, like ice, like the frosted branches he'd seen for the first time a year or two ago that were so _beautiful_.

The room was tucked out of sight, just under one of the buttresses.

The strains of the orchestra filtered through his ears, and the sparkling noise became that of a piano, played with fire as well as the ice this piece required.

And with the piano, a voice.

_"People don't love people like us, you understand?"_

Daisya's fingers tightened around the opera glasses, and the lady dancing in front of him seemed to force her way back into his sight.

Now the seat was uncomfortable itchy, and the red was seeping into his vision.

Antonina…he'd nearly blocked her out for good. It was a trick they'd learned in class. If you repeat a word over and over again, it stops meaning anything. Snow. Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snowsnowsnowsnowsnow. Now it just looked weird. Same with people. If you think about them over and over again, break them down into components - Antonio, like the Italian composer Marie liked; Nina, like Isaac's nickname for Jeanne; tangled hair, like tree branches; sunken eyes, like the witches in fairy tales - they stopped existing.

Antonina moved jerkily, like she was always stumbling from one foot to the next, held up by flimsy strings.

The dancer looked so wrong. She danced perfectly, but like a marionette. As if each move was made by someone else, someone far away that she tried to copy.

The curtains were too red and the light was too bright and the dancers spun. A shadow rose up in front of him. Daisya could barely think straight.

And that thought made Daisya whip around and drive the Charity Bell through the akuma behind him.

These ones got into your head. He hadn't seen that before.

And besides, he'd found the Innocence.

He controlled the waves of sound, slowly wearing away at the akuma instead of destroying it in a single blow. He didn't want to interrupt the show, after all.

Eventually, a new layer of dust settled over the box.

Now that the akuma was taken care of — the Bell could work without the verbal trigger on low-level ones like his — he turned back to the stage. There was work to do, in the dust and the curtains and the music that he could swear was like what Antonina had played months ago, on a cool, windy autumn day. Even in the middle of a snowy February, the music still reminded him of when he'd gotten to know the others at the Order.

All that aside, there was work to be done.

…

"Kanda! Psst, Kanda!"

The shout-whisper seemed to carry across the servers' waiting room, and the short young lady standing shyly in the corner shot him an exasperated glare before navigating her way to the door. Daisya knew well enough to stand lightly on his toes. Kanda was probably in _that_ kind of mood.

When Kanda reached him, he grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him out of sight, behind the curtained walls of the room. Yep, as was becoming more usual, Daisya's prediction was correct.

"You're supposed to be watching," Kanda hissed, letting go once they were out of sight.

"But I found the Innocence!"

"Yeah." Kanda looked doubtful. "And what about the akuma?"

"I took care of it," Daisya replied, rolling his eyes. "Listen — it's the Prima ballerina whatsitsname. Dress thing. I saw it before, and she was dancing a little weird. Probably someone's ghost got stuck in it."

The curtains shifted to the side as a servant scurried past, and then scurried back, holding a bottle of amber liquid, not meeting Daisya and Kanda's stares. Once she'd gone, the conversation resumed.

"Yeah, right."

"No! I mean yes! She's the only one that's acting weird, and the akuma decided to come out when she was doing her solo whatever thing."

Kanda raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but didn't turn away.

"You better be sure. I'll take care of the lower levels, you stick to the upper ones. Just take care of the akuma for now."

"Hey, I'm older than you. I should be giving the orders."

"Whatever."

Kanda stuck out a hand, and pushed him backwards with all the effort it would take Daisya to knock over a doll.

"I'll tell Lenalee what's going on."

Daisya rolled his eyes. It was a losing battle.

"Sure thing. Let's meet up down there when everything's over."

…

The three exorcists huddled in a circle in one of the wings off stage, trying to avoid getting in the way of the black-clothed workers scurrying to and fro.

"So what now?" Daisya shouted over the sounds of applause, "Do we wait for her to get down?"

"You're the one who pointed it out," Kanda retorted, "You come up with a plan—"

Lenalee raised her hand to interrupt him, and spoke clearly.

"I'll talk to her. She won't want to talk to you boys."

"Why not?" Daisya asked.

"Do you really need to ask?" muttered Kanda, not quite under his breath.

"Kan- _da_."

Daisya tried to shove Kanda to the side, and nearly fell into the head stagehand when he dodged. The guy had just sneaked up behind him — he didn't make a sound when he moved, in those slippers.

"Sorry," said Daisya hurriedly, "We were just—"

"Have you three made any progress?" the stagehand interrupted.

"Yes," replied Lenalee, "We were wondering if we could talk to your Prima Ballerina when she comes offstage?"

Daisya could have sworn that Lenalee managed to make her eyes even bigger-looking and shinier than they already were, but whatever face she'd made, the guy seemed willing to help.

"So long as she agrees," he said softly, "You'll have to wait for her somewhere, so you don't get in the way. Please follow me."

With that, he turned on his heel, and walked off into the shadows, down a small flight of stairs, then along the low-ceilinged hallway. Daisya had trouble keeping up with the guy — he was having to run a bit, even though he was pretty tall for his age.

More rooms flashed past. More stories. Daisya didn't have time to notice them all.

They pulled up to a small room, near the other side of the stage, and the man ushered them inside.

"Now wait," he instructed, "And don't get in the way."

Before leaving, the man shot a pointed glare at Daisya.

"See?" said Lenalee softly.

"Hey, you're not supposed to side with Kanda!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still isn't great but anyhow...

Daisya shot a look of disappointment at Lenalee, and cast around for something to sit on. Wandering over, he decided that the small footstool in the corner would do just fine. They wouldn't be here for long, hopefully.

Kanda was already leaning against the wall, opposite the door, and Lenalee had perched on the edge of a wooden chair. The room was only, what, ten, fifteen feet square? Not too luxurious. It looked like it was the dumping ground for semi-useful junk, like a chair missing part of its back, or a music stand stuck on one setting that was too low for anyone over the age of 14.

The colour scheme was still dark red, worn and faded, but at least there was a patch of bare wood along one wall. The red was starting to get boring.

Daisya tried to shift into a more comfortable posture, then gave up, and stared at the wall. Let's try and remember how to count in German. They'd learned it in class, but it kept slipping out of his head. He used French and English more often, and his mind still operated in Turkish, even after a year and a bit with the Order.

 _Eins, zwei, drei, fier, fuenf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf_ —ha ha it's an elf— _zwoelf…_

They weren't left waiting long before an apparition in white startled Daisya, who'd just started fidgeting with the half-torn covering on the footstool.

"Hello." Lenalee, who'd obviously been paying attention, stood up to greet the new arrival. "Are you Mlle Rochette?"

She walked over to her, and extended a hand, which did look pretty silly when it was a nine-year-old doing it.

But even as she did, the ballerina didn't move, hovering on the threshold. Her arm twitched, as if trying to reach forward to Lenalee in return.

"I…am. What do you want?"

Lenalee retracted her hand, a timid smile appearing on her face.

"Your dancing was very pretty tonight, Mlle. It must have taken ages to learn the steps. I could never do that."

Daisya was keeping one eye on Lenalee's boots, in case she decided to activate, and another on the dancer.

"Yes."

It might have been his imagination, but there was another echo layered on top of the voice that had first answered. Rochette's first voice was clear and in a deeper register, but this one sounded a tiny bit dusty around the edges.

"How long ago did you learn it?"

"Th—three years ago," stuttered the ballerina. She seemed to be forcing the words out, fighting against her own body.

"Sorry," said Lenalee, "Mlle Bouchard, did you say three years?"

"Thirty."

The echo had become stronger, blending with the dancer's first voice. That smartass Lenalee must have done a bit of asking around herself, to see who died recently. When she called the dancer "Bouchard," the twitching had seemed to stop.

"No wonder you do it so well! It was perfect."

The dancer smiled indulgently, and gave a quarter-curtsey. Daisya had to remind himself that she probably saw Lenalee as just some little kid.

"Thank you very much, young mademoiselle. I've had plenty of practice."

"I can't even imagine it," agreed Lenalee, "May I ask you another question?"

"Certainly."

"How long ago did you die?"

Daisya held his breath. People sometimes got offended if you asked them that, but whichever dancer this one was, she'd taken a liking to Lenalee.

"A few months."

"Is that enough?"

Now, there was a moment of frigid silence.

"Pardon?"

"Your ghost has stayed a few months past your death. Would you like to stay here longer? Or would you like to continue onwards, into eternal life?"

General Yeager always told them to convince spirits to abandon their Innocence, rather than taking it by force. The best way to do that was playing the "Wow, you're going to heaven!" card.

"What?"

"We can let your soul pass on, if you want to."

This seemed to shock the woman, and her voice momentarily lapsed into the Prima Ballerina's slightly higher tone.

"Please, if you would—And why should I do that?"

Mid-sentence, the older woman took over.

"You would go to your reward, and Mlle Rochette could learn to be like you on her own, of her own accord."

"So—yes, please—so you have the authority of God?"

Lenalee nodded solemnly.

"Yes, as exorcists and servants."

The next silence lasted almost a minute. In the doorframe, the ballerina's body shivered, lips parted as if about to say something. Facing her was Lenalee, looking as cute and helpless as always. Daisya could see tendrils of green starting to shoot up from her feet.

He focused on his Innocence, and pictured the sound of it. Best to get it ready to activate than have it take a while to boot up.

"Then…"

The older voice spoke softly, letting the word drift through the air.

"I suppose this is fate."

She seemed to sigh, even as the ballerina's body still twitched in place.

"But I will request one thing."

Lenalee stiffened slightly, but no one would have noticed it.

"Of course."

"I ask you for once last dance before you do."

The twitching seemed to stop, and suddenly the dancer took on a relaxed, but stern posture. Rochette had been less pronounced, more fluid, but Bouchard was stately.

"And you shall receive one," answered Lenalee.

Turning, the ballerina swept her eyes over the room. Daisya felt that he'd been called on in a class he wasn't doing too well in, and saw Kanda staring intently at the ceiling. Hah, who knew he'd do the same?

He pulled the reins, and his attention snapped back to the present.

"Which one of you shall do it?" the ballerina asked. "You must volunteer yourselves."

"Do what?"

"Be my partner? A duet is far more interesting than a solo."

This seemed to surprise Lenalee, because she just looked over at Kanda. He made a face, and shrugged.

"I'm afraid—"

"I'll do it."

Daisya stood up. He didn't know about Lenalee, but he'd seen and dealt with Kanda's two left feet first hand. Mlle Ballerina here wouldn't want _that_ , now, would she?

"Then let us commence."

As soon as the dancer grabbed his wrist, his feet started to work of their own accord, running along with her — with them — and out into the main corridor. The two — three — of them retraced Daisya's earlier steps, racing up a flight of noisy steps to the empty stage.

A haunted dress sounded pretty stupid, particularly when it was as frilly as this one, but Daisya had to admit that having no control over your body was creepy as hell. His feet naturally avoided the spots where the wood had rotted slightly, gotten soft, and found their cues on the stage. This ballerina must have been a master, once.

Maybe that was why she was holding on so tightly. Dancing was her life, and both of those were hard habits to kick, or so he'd heard.

"Lights!" she called, and Lenalee seemed to fly up the stairs behind the stage. A match struck, flared in the silence, and caught the wick of a lantern. An adjustment of filters and glasses cast an imperfect circle over the stage.

"Music!"

This time, there was no player left to obey her, but a faint melody sprang up.

Hooked on to Daisya's cloak, the Charity Bell pulsed slightly, sending out faint and slightly off-tune sparks of noise. It had some amount of memory, so he set it on one of the songs that had rung out earlier. It started softly, timidly, but he knew that it wouldn't stay that way.

He didn't feel like the dancer was someone to get stubborn with.

"Now."

His legs — and arms, and everything else — moved according to someone else's will, and the dancer led them perfectly. Was this what puppets felt like? He didn't envy them.

He didn't envy Mlle Rochette, who'd had to live, even for a few weeks, knowing that she didn't belong to herself. All you ever have is yourself, so if that gets taken away…well, you're straight outta luck, then.

You may as well just give up.

…

Kanda watched, from the shadows in the wings. Even though he'd never been here before, this place seemed familiar.

He must have been here, in his old life.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we move on. I might add another chapter between this one and the last one, but I haven't written it yet, so I'll go with this for now. I theorize that the Order tries to make exorcists more manageable by regulating who they go with, so Kanda gets all the new kids, the rowdy ones, the ones they think will break him down. That's why he gets paired up with Allen and Lavi despite threatening endless harm on them on several occasions. Or maybe not. Maybe, he's just really unlucky.

The cart lurched, Daisya remained asleep, and Kanda clenched his fists.

It was September again, and the most recent fall rain had been a day or so before, leaving this back-country road full of dried ruts. To make matters worse, Daisya's mysterious circadian rhythm had insisted that a cart that jumped every few metres was the perfect place for a nap. Take that, Kanda's usual attitude towards just about anything, and put that together with Daisya's unfortunate habit of sleeping on whatever surface was available, and you had the full picture.

Kanda's various elbows and pushes never had an effect; firstly, because Daisya could sleep through a thunderstorm and probably an artillery battle, and secondly, because the lurching of the cart and the body's automatic balancing system meant that Daisya would always come to rest at the point of least discomfort, i.e. Kanda. Even a bony thirteen-year-old was softer than splintered wood.

During the day the sun still had the warmth of summer, but the wind that blew in through the window of the carriage gave off a little chill that made Kanda's human blanket less annoying than usual. Autumn was here.

As if on cue, it encountered another bump, and Kanda felt his teeth clack together.

For some reason, the director had make sure he was stuck with either Daisya or Lenalee for just about every _single_ mission he'd run these past four months. And sometimes both. Joy. Marie would've been better than those two brats.

Kanda elbowed Daisya again, to no avail. The sun had already set, and it was going to be dark soon, so the driver would be switching off. And Kanda wasn't about to stay awake another twelve hours, not with this idiot drooling the time away. He'd have to pull his own weight. For once in his life.

He tried to ignore the weight that was on his shoulder, not being pulled, and ran over the mission specifics again. Location: Congress Poland. Part of the Russian Empire. Climate: cold. Town: middle of nowhere. Innocence activity spotted, but no akuma yet. Good for kids.

Like they cared about that shit.

The cart lurched again, and after a moment kept trundling on through the forest. The trees were spruce, mixed with fiery deciduous. They outlined themselves against the changing sky.

This was going to be a long trip, with no adults there to explain that they were to be taken seriously. And with Daisya's habits, they were just going to be treated like a couple of average idiots. Never mind that they'd been through more than any of these knock-kneed rural twerps.

Then again, this was part of the Russian Empire. They'd been through as much.

He grimaced. The higher-ups never seemed to get that the kids there couldn't count as kids. They weren't adults or children, but stuck somewhere in between. Pretending that they were normal children was just patronizing and annoying. But treating them like tools was just—

Cruel.

They could never be normal.

Except for maybe Daisya.

He hadn't been locked up like Lenalee, he wasn't paranoid like Isaac, never stopped talking for days at a time like Jeanne. Hah, if only he did. Even Kiki, Helle, and Idris couldn't fit the mould of all the cackling village brats they passed sometimes. Helle smiled and smiled, and never fucking stopped, and Idris and Kiki got _angry_. And Antonina, to put it bluntly, didn't even count as human, now.

So, of them all, Daisya was the only one that laughed and complained whenever he felt like it, and complained about just usual stuff. He was the jack of all talents, and annoying as hell.

Kanda felt something boil in his chest. That bastard laughed too much.

It was so wrong.

And it was painful.

The feeling was just a patina on the surface of a lake of God-knew-what, but it was there.

He elbowed Daisya viciously.

" _Ow!_ Hey, what was that for?"

Daisya rocked back to upright, rubbing his eyes. Kanda shot a customary glare at him.

"You've been sleeping for hours," he muttered, managing to turn a statement of fact into an insult.

"Oh, that," Daisya answered bluntly, already refastening his bandages with a safety pin, "Did you want a turn, or something?"

He heard a sigh from beside him.

"Then why'd you–"

"Just be quiet."

Daisya straightened his hood, tossing the bell around and over his shoulder.

"Suit yourself. I'm going back to sleep."

Kanda's muscles tensed involuntarily.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You snore."

Daisya made a face. He had a talent for them.

"Aw, shut up. I do not."

"How would you know?" asked Kanda shortly, irritable as ever.

"I'd hear it."

"No, you'd be asleep."

Daisya shook his head. "I'm still going to sleep. You'd be actually yelling if you were annoyed. Am I right?"

Kanda made a face. He didn't have as many of them as Daisya's, but they did the trick.

"No."

Daisya grinned.

"Yep."

He slumped down in his seat, and pulled his hood down and collar up. Kanda knew that gravity would do its work, and he'd end up leaning one way or the other eventually.

"O'course," said Daisya, voice muffled by the fabric, "If you want a break, I can stay awake for a while."

Kanda's face twisted in distaste, and he crossed his legs, staying silent.

"So? Gonna take me up on my offer?"

Daisya had sprung back into an upright position, but his hood still shaded his eyes. A grin was still plastered on his face.

"If it's going to stop me," Kanda snapped, giving off the impression of threads snapping in a rope, "From having to listen to you."

"It might."

Kanda didn't know it, but dark circles were beginning to show beneath his thin skin.

"Deal."

A sniggering noise emanated from the depths of the hood, and Daisya shook his head, pushing it back on to his shoulders.

"Sure thing," he said. "I'll stop talking, you stop elbowing me."

"You _fucking—_ "

...

Kanda slept more peacefully than you'd imagine. From where he'd laid his head on Daisya's shoulder, he hadn't moved in hours. He didn't even snore; he breathed as softly as always, and Daisya could barely hear it over the creaking of the cart.

It was funny. Kanda always looked like some hero in a book: beautiful (Daisya was still pretty cheesed that there were no cool, ugly characters) and emotionally constipated. It had taken him ages to figure out that complaining = being happy and showing any kind of weakness or smiling or whatever = being very unhappy indeed. Most of the time, he just guessed that Kanda would feel just the same as him — if he were in Kanda's shoes — and vice versa.

But when he was asleep, his face scrunched up, his mouth hung open a bit, his neck was bent at a weird angle, and he was drooling a bit. He looked like just another dumb kid, too bored to stay awake and too proud to admit he was tired.

Speaking of which, now seemed to be the perfect time to see if his hair was as soft as it looked. Lenalee's was really smooth and shiny when she let him braid it, or at least really soft for someone who probably didn't wash it much, and Kanda's looked even softer. And there was no chance in hell he was going to get off with touching it while Kanda was awake.

Well, maybe not no chance, but not a huge chance either. Daisya was never sure when it came to Kanda.

Gingerly, he hovered a hand over Kanda's head, and gently placed it down—

—and froze. Kanda seemed to stir, eyelids fluttering. After a moment, he shifted his head to a different position, and fell back into his coma.

Daisya counted five seconds — one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand — and stroked sideways. Kanda's hair really was soft, and fine.

He let his hand slip down the ends, which weren't brittle and frayed, unlike his own or his siblings'.

Huh. He'd never have guessed that Kanda was the type, but the guy seemed to know a bit about hair.

Just to confirm his findings, Daisya replaced his hand on the top of Kanda's head, and repeated the movement.

And decided it would be best to be _absolutely_ sure about it.

Kanda always stared at dogs along the road and sometimes pet them, but Daisya decided that he was definitely more like a cat.

...

When Kanda woke up, blurry-eyed, stiff, and warm, his brain kicked him back to upright.

"What time is it?"

He combed his fingers through his hair busily. Hair tie — yes, it was there. Maybe Daisya did spare a thought for his own survival, for all that he tried to steal it when they were both awake.

"Just about dawn, and not a moment sooner. Geez, you're heavy."

Kanda said nothing, retying his ponytail and trying to ward off the rising embarrassment.

"Shut up. We need to get going soon."

"Yeah, yeah. How many miles is it from the town?"

Kanda had let out his hair, and kept combing it. Tangles were not fun to have.

"How the hell should I know?"

"I'm testing you. It's thirteen."

He put up his hands and retied his ponytail, deftly kicking Daisya in the shins as the latter tried to snatch his hair tie.

"Dammit."

Daisya's fingernails bit into his thumb, as they did when he was frustrated.

"I'm not going to hold back the next time you do that," growled Kanda, shooting him a dark look.

"It doesn't exactly hurt," murmured Daisya "Which reminds me…"

Daisya reached into a pocket, and fished out three crumpled, sketch-covered scraps of paper; the stub of a pencil; a bag of lozenges; a worn, snot-covered handkerchief; and finally a small flask of liquid and a glass vial.

"…I nearly forgot to take this."

Kanda shot a more disdainful look at him, which was comparatively worried. Even contempt could be expressed with so many different nuances, Daisya had noticed.

"You shouldn't need to take it anymore."

"Yeah, but it's better if I do. 'S easier to fight when you don't hurt all the time, you know?"

He spilled a tiny bit it into the vial, and downed it. Kanda made a face of disgust. That bastard, with his pain and his stupid medicine. Marie had told him what pain was for, when he'd asked why there was so much of it. It kept you alive. After that stunt in Budapest, and in the forest, and after everything since, he knew Daisya needed it more than most.

"You're going die," he said, "If you make everything stop hurting."

God knew that even the possibility of losing an exorcist meant that they'd try more and more to build them. Antonina wasn't too good at it, so she wasn't a big loss. But Daisya—

"Yeah, but at least I'll be having fun."

With his hood pulled back to reveal most of his face —and the grin accompanying it — Daisya looked as carefree and ignorant as ever Kanda would love and hate to be.

"Don't lie," Kanda said quietly, feeling his jaw clench.

Daisya hadn't seemed to notice, shoving the handful of scraps back into his pocket, and stretching, waiting perhaps for the anticipated bored reply. Ignorant.

"You're pathetic."

Kanda's voice was still soft, but it had an edge to it, like the stinging nettles that seemed so soft and harmless until you brushed against them, and felt it burn.

Daisya kicked back, and crossed one leg over the other. He'd had a while to learn about stinging nettles, and he still came out covered in welts every time they went near a patch. He always said they didn't hurt.

Bastard.

"Not lyin'. I am _never_ going to be bored again. I'm going to do whatever I want."

For a moment, there was just the clatter of wood and wheels and the sound of hooves.

"And if I die," he added, "Well, it'll suck a bit, but if I'm still having fun when I kick it then I won't regret it."

You fucking _moron_.

"Don't you have anything better to live for?" Kanda asked, almost but not quite snapping.

He always kept his fury quiet, under control. At this point it had passed the sharpened peak of rage, and was heading towards the valley of lightheaded anger that laughed so as not to kill.

Daisya shrugged in the face of it all, and started to talk again.

"Not really."

He seemed to consider this for a moment.

"No, not really. My family's nice enough, but I write home, and I don't ever really want to go back there."

He stared up at the sky, as if watching the stars disappear.

"You've got _no_ idea how boring it was. The only thing to do was play soccer. Half the time it was way too hot and the other half no one played with me because I was too good."

"Yeah, you sure had a tough life."

Sarcasm dropped off of Kanda's every word, and the cart trundled along. The trees were still green, but starting to fade. The sky's blue was just a few shades lighter than it had been. Funny, the things you notice.

"Eh, not really, but I've got to say if I'd been stuck there," Daisya started, speeding up, "I'd have been either be outta there or dead by the time I turned twenty. I promised that if I hadn't gone somewhere else by then, I was just going to start walking until I was out or dead of thirst or something because the only reason to stay alive is to have _fun_."

The words tumbled out with a breathless emphasis, ending in a hiss.

The cart hit another rut.

"So, anyway," he started again, catching a breath before Kanda retaliated, "It's not too fun to hurt all the time."

He smiled at Kanda, daring him to continue.

"Then you're useless," was the quiet reply.

Kanda had turned away, and Daisya could only guess as to his expression. He was acting weird — normally he would have yelled, or made some disapproving noise, or told him to shut up.

Daisya made another face.

"That's not nice."

"No, it's right."

There was an edge of thickness in Kanda's words. When he turned back to face Daisya, his face was covered with the smug grin of someone who was about to prove someone else wrong.

But with the way his eyes were wider than normal, the way his muscles from his face to his shoulders were tensed, he wasn't feeling happy or even self-satisfied right now.

"Either _you_ ram it though your head that what you think doesn't matter, or I'll do it for you," said Kanda, voice low, "You're an exorcist. You have to fight."

For once he laid the words down simply, speaking them as if they were strips of ripped methodically, not roughly, from the fabric of the air. Daisya knew he probably shouldn't go on. But, of course, he remained himself.

"So what? 'S not like I'm going to quit all of a sudden. They can't–"

"They will."

The thin bite had returned to Kanda's voice.

"You–"

"It doesn't matter what it is. They'll do it. Shut up. Now."

Kanda's knuckles were white, and Daisya's reluctant sense of self-preservation finally kicked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely conjecture, but Kanda's completely weird behaviour here is because he knows the Order is short on exorcists, and he knows that he and Alma were made because they were losing exorcists. Enter Daisya, who's reckless but talented, and Kanda's not having a good time. The anger he directs at Daisya is the anger he feels about his and Alma's creation, the anger he feels for the Order that forces them to fight. And Kanda, at this point, still values life enough to fight Alma. So he also unconsciously believes that everyone should want to live, and when Daisya's like 'eehhhh i guess' he just snaps.
> 
> Speaking of which, the reason for such an Edgy characterization for such a light-hearted character is as follows: Daisya grew up in a small town, didn't really have friends, didn't really like his family much, and hated the same thing day after day. The cheery exorcist in Barcelona values his own life far more, but the kid who spent most of his day trying to escape his family and his town by wandering on the outskirts alone might have. My headcanon is that he's so happy as an exorcist that death doesn't seem too bad, because he still can't really understand the concept. Kids don't really have that good of a concept of death - I remember not really feeling it as having any impact, and it still feels like something far away, because I haven't seen it up close and personal. Killing akuma is just reducing them to dust, so I feel like Daisya is also like that. Tl;dr he's careless and fancy-free, but also just a lonely, arrogant kid who's had the chance of a lifetime.


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm sorry, Kanda."

Those shouldn't have been the words that Daisya used, Kanda knew, and they shouldn't have been spoken so softly.

But they were.

…

At lasted, the sun finally crawled above the horizon. The smell of ice in the air warned that the days were just going to get darker from here on in.

This is a truer statement than you might think.

Kanda dropped a couple of coins into the hands of the driver, who bowed a fraction of an inch in thanks before snapping the reins. Those who did or could not speak were highly valued by the Order; even more so were those who were also deaf. Anyone who didn't know the right signs and codes just thought they were stupid, or sometimes insane, and never bothered to wonder what they were doing with a thousand marks' worth of tithe money in the middle of the night, somewhere in southern France.

In return for their services, they were paid. Sometimes well. Often, like the exorcists, they had little choice. The hand of God is forceful.

Slowly, the cart trundled off, still bouncing off of ruts and sticking behind stones. There was something exciting about a beaten-up old cart and mute driver going through the depths of the forest, but Daisya had to admit that trains had their advantages.

When it rounded the corner, the two young exorcists seem to snap back to the present.

"Let's get moving," said Kanda brusquely, shouldering his pack. "We should be able to scout it out today, and kill the akuma tonight, if we don't waste time."

" _You_ weren't the one who stayed up all night," Daisya grumbled half-heartedly, following suit, "It was freezing, let me tell you."

After a few moments' struggle, he managed to untangle the edge of his cloak from the pack straps, and tripped off after Kanda.

"Heck, I was even happy to have you nearly pushing me off the cart. How long is it into town again?"

"I've already told you," Kanda said shortly.

His patience had snapped long ago, and Daisya's comment didn't help.

But Daisya did.

"Yeah, yeah, thirteen miles," he said tiredly, nodding his head from side to side with the words. It was a habit of his that only made him look more like a whiny child than he already did.

"Why are you asking, then?" Kanda growled.

"Dunno."

Silence fell, and the two of them walked in step. Kanda in the lead, strides regular, and Daisya staying in his wake. Even on the straight track through the trees, his path still wove and swayed, when he spotted interesting mushrooms or realized that Kanda was getting ahead of him.

When the trees started to thin, and turn to fields, Daisya had his answer.

"Just making sure."

Kanda stopped, and turned to look at him.

"What?"

"I was just asking to make sure."

The stare continued.

"I mean, I knew how far away we were, but you were seeming a bit off. So I made sure you weren't. 'S useless when you're teammate's all zoned out."

After a moment's confusion, Kanda's face seemed to sort itself out.

"I hate you."

"Get in line."

"Finally!"

Daisya was just about ready to kiss the small gatehouse that marked the first sign of civilization. A couple of fences and run-down farmsteads did not a village make, and after 13 miles of it, he was sick of it.

"I bet they're going to have at least _one_ interesting–"

Kanda grabbed Daisya's collar before he could run anywhere, or finish his sentence, for that matter.

"What are Marie's rules?" he asked flatly.

"Don't do anything stupid, don't talk to possible akuma, just look for the Innocence, don't worry about saving lives. I got it."

Kanda grumbled. A couple of months ago, Daisya's recklessness had nearly lost them a mission. It looked like Marie's measures against that happening again might not be completely useless.

"If you break them, I'm not going to save you again."

"Again? Don't tell me you've already saved me. More than once, too."

" _Shut up_."

The air was cold, the ground was cold, the wooden wall of the barn was cold, Daisya was cold, and he supposed even the akuma would have been cold.

"Can you see anything?" he whispered, trying not to pant. Every word sent plumes of vapour into the air.

Kanda shook his head in reply, and ducked back behind the wall. It wasn't much, just railway ties and plaster, but it was still between them and the akuma.

"What made you think that was a good idea?" he hissed.

Kanda must have been cold, too. His skin always felt cold.

Daisya felt his brain dragging him back to the present and handing him an excuse.

"I don't know! It's not like I knew she was an akuma."

Kanda scoffed.

"Yeah, well, you never do. Just don't trust anyone who isn't an exorcist or a finder, okay? Don't even trust the finders. Just don't go out of sight of another exorcist."

Daisya rolled his eyes. It was probably dark enough for Kanda not to see him do it. Probably.

"Okay, okay! Calm down. I think she lost us, any–"

His breath was knocked out of him as Kanda threw him sideways, and the thin barrier collapsed under a hail of bullets.

He tasted the dirt in his mouth, and felt the scraps of rock and twig biting into his skin. A creaking noise sounded overhead – probably the roof starting to collapse, without one of its supports. Hopefully they wouldn't be under it when it hit the ground.

Daisya finally came to a halt, staring up at splintered wood and stars. Kanda's punches were iron.

"Innocence, activate!"

Hearing the yell, he picked himself up, and scrambled out of the way.

From behind a new, flimsier section of the wall, watched Kanda throwing himself forward.

"Guess she didn't," he groaned to himself.

Geez, Kanda was strong. He himself barely had any breath left, even though he couldn't feel much pain.

But goddamn, he was cold. The forest a few metres away felt like it was sucking all the heat from the world to fuel its creaking skeleton, and the stars were burning balls of ice. Between them, the hard, stony earth ran smooth and gleamed in the gunfire like the surface of a frozen puddle.

He squinted up at the two silhouettes, outlined by Mugen's glow. They danced and jumped in circles, Kanda always just barely step ahead. He seemed to be having no fun at all, which was a shame.

Daisya supposed he'd have to join him up there.

For a moment, he let himself breathe, trying to find a balance between the heat in his lungs and the cold of the night. It didn't pay to leap into a battle unprepared, no matter how reckless he seemed. He didn't have the same luxury as Kanda, so he'd need to be careful of the bullets.

_Wait for it…_

Funny. Kanda had said that he wasn't going to save him this time. Same as all the other times.

_Wait for it…_

And he'd gone and saved him. Same as all the other times.

_Wait for it…_

Daisya breathed in and out, watching the cloud form. For some reason now his skin felt hot, and he felt almost sick. Being winded was _not_ fun.

_Now!_

"Innocence, activate," he muttered, mostly to himself. It seemed to work better if you yelled it, but he was still catching his breath.

His mind sunk into the comfortable ruts of strategy.

Let's see. Or not see. It's pretty dark out. Dunno if she can see me. Anyway, Kanda's got her engaged from the front, so the best I can do is just hit her once. She could dodge, and Kanda's having a pretty hard time, so maybe she's a level two. Anyway, the best bet is to flank her and try and get her off guard.

He steadied himself on his feet. The town was small, dark, and nearly abandoned. Poland was not a happy place. On the plus side, it meant no one was willing to take a look outside. They just thought it was the Russians again.

Daisya took a deep breath, and sprinted around the wooden. wreckage of the barn wall. Avoiding getting splinters was going to be pretty tough, and the ground was hard beneath his feet. It was cold. Just run, run, run!

Kanda must have been just as tired. He never seemed to have much fun.

The structures and trees flashed past, making just the barest texture in the night.

He took another breath of freezing cold air before skidding to a halt beside the akuma, and turning a right angle on his heel.

Ah, goddammit. Now the akuma was turning towards him. And damn, she was ugly.

The markings on her face made her look just like him.

His foot slid into place, and he bent his knees to balance himself before kicking the Charity Bell at the akuma. Time to see if all those synch exercises came in handy. And, well, even if they didn't, Kanda would take care of the akuma if he failed.

Same as every other time.

The Charity Bell soared, and exploded in a halo of fire.

Daisya felt the breath fall in and out of his lungs.

This was life. This was why he was living.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter for this arc, because I just wanted to get a decent number of words out. Note: in days past, most people got shoved in either with their travelling party or with other guests into beds, so blanket-stealing was a much more serious and common offense. Also, Daisya has a weird, weird perspective on life. But both you guys and Kanda have figured that out by now.

It was so cold, it was almost painful.

He had wrapped himself in his coat, but exorcists were used to travelling light. No room for too many extra clothes when you could be walking the whole way with your partner on your back.

And, of course, every time he tried to grab more of the blanket he ran the risk of waking Kanda up a second time. He was pretty sure that he'd be even more cranky than usual if he got woken up after their adventure an hour or so ago.

Even so, Daisya couldn't feel most of his legs, from about the knee down. The fire had long since died, and running around in the freezing air had just made him colder. He wasn't made for cold climates — he was used to it being so hot you could barely breathe. Basically, it sucked. Couldn't fall asleep, couldn't stand staying still, couldn't move. Kanda seemed to have the internal body temperature of a lizard, and Daisya suspected that any attempt to leach some warmth from him would result in a black eye at the very least.

Damn, it really was cold.

He made his breathing quieter for a moment, and tried to gauge if Kanda was still asleep.

His breathing was still regular, at any rate.

Oh, well. If you couldn't sleep you could always go get something to eat, or just find a lantern to keep lit and do something less boring than just lying there and trying not to move too much.

Gingerly, Daisya slipped out of the bed, stepping down silently on the wooden beams of the floor. Which, by the way, were freezing cold. It's pretty difficult to get it off the mind when you can even feel the chill between your ribs.

What a weakling he was. It wasn't even winter yet. He supposed he'd have to start packing a few more clothes.

He padded towards his bag, eyes well accustomed to the dark. Just a few more steps without knocking into anything.

He covered the distance, and crouched down. Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, and froze.

"What are you doing?" Kanda whispered, still managing to make the words sound like a groan of annoyance, "Don't tell me there's _another_ akuma."

Daisya shrugged, and rummaged through the pack.

"Couldn't sleep. Too cold. Sorry I woke you up."

Late at night, he didn't feel like arguing.

"I was already awake. Your breathing was off. Just put on your coat."

"Did that."

Daisya heard a sigh, footsteps on the floor, going towards the door. What could Kanda possibly need to do at this hour?

He risked a look, and saw Kanda grabbing his coat off the hook on the door. He looked a bit worse for wear, with dark circles under his eyes and hair falling into his face.

Daisya caught the coat as he threw it at him. Geez, it was heavy. How could Kanda stand to wear it?

"Just take it," Kanda muttered tiredly, "'n go back to sleep. And don't steal the covers this time."

Daisya straightened the coat, but didn't put it on.

"Sorry. Aren't you cold?"

"No," said Kanda shortly, "I'm used to winter. Just go back to sleep. You're useless when you're tired."

Kanda looked at him for a moment, unreadable, then turned away. After he'd crawled back under the covers, and closed his eyes, Daisya decided not to question the charity.

He pulled Kanda's coat over his own. It was heavy, and warm, and smelled like old, freshly-cleaned clothes.

Once he'd hauled himself back to the bed, with the suspiciously off-white sheets of a backwater inn, and the pillows stuffed with what felt like old rags, Daisya curled up. He'd have to ask for a jacket like this the next time he was at headquarters.

Slowly, as he began to feel his feet again, he drifted off into sleep.

Kanda woke up, and found that both he and Daisya had attempted to steal the same section of the blanket. They had both succeeded.

For a moment, he considered going back to sleep. An hour's head start wouldn't do much, would it?

It was cold outside, after all.

And Daisya was nice and quiet when he was asleep.

He turned over, staring blankly at the growing patch of light on the ground.

At length, Kanda forced himself out of bed and went through the motions. Get hair out of face, comb it as well as possible with the fingers, tie it before Daisya gets the chance to wake up. Wash face, take off extra clothing, straighten shirt, put on boots, attempt to wake up Daisya with as little effort as possible. Shout when Dasiya doesn't respond to open curtains or quiet talking. Grab backpack and drop it on his head when that doesn't work.

"Mmph!"

Daisya sat up violently, and the bag fell on to the floor.

"What was that for?"

Kanda rolled his eyes.

"Waking you up. Get ready. And I need my jacket."

"Yeah, yeah," Daisya groaned, staggering tiredly to his feet, "This thing's pretty heavy, you know. Makes it hard to get up. 'S it made of steel wool, or something?"

"So you'd rather freeze?" Kanda asked dryly.

"Oh, of course not. It's a good coat. Warm. Smells nice."

"Just give me the coat."

Daisya handed it over semi-reluctantly before taking out the safety pin in the bandages around his neck.

"You know," he said, unwinding the strips of cloth, "These things are getting pretty annoying."

"You don't have to wear them."

"Yeah, I do. Still hurts."

"Aren't you taking enough medicine to knock it out?"

As if on cue, Daisya pulled a little too tightly, and winced.

"Nah. They wear off pretty quickly. And you can see what I look like without them."

The strips fell, coiled like snakes.

True enough, now that Daisya had unwound the bandages around his head, the sight was not beautiful. His skin was mottled and red with scarring and inflammation, and his hair stuck out in patches from his scalp.

"You're not bald anymore, though."

"That just makes it look stupid. Whatever. I didn't look great before, so it's not much of a loss."

Kanda recrossed his arms

"Quit whining about it."

"Hah, says you."

"Yeah, says me. Lenalee can tell you, being cute isn't much fun," Kanda muttered darkly.

He knew he was beautiful, or was going to be. Even worse, other people knew it too. Daisya was lucky. No one noticed him.

"I've seen worse," he added, not quite sure why he was saying it.

Not to say that, in a certain light, it would only be a white lie to say that Daisya's eyes lit up. It wouldn't even be a lie to say they burned.

"Oh?"

Kanda was unwelcomely jerked back to the present by Daisya looking at him, his face torn between confusion and dreadful mocking.

" _You're_ feeling nice today."

"Am not. It's a stupid thing to care about."

Daisya resumed wrapping the strip of cloth around his head, looping it around his jaw to tie off.

"In Kanda-ese, that's the same thing as saying I'm fine as is. You said it, not me," he added as Kanda made a face.

Kanda rolled his eyes again.

"Come on. We should find the Innocence before we run into any more akuma."

He turned to leave, grabbing his pack from where it leaned against the wall.

"Hey, Kanda."

Kanda froze, and turned back around in genuine confusion.

"What?"

His voice was a bit sharp. He noticed it, now.

"Thanks."

"Oh."

Kanda was at a loss. Daisya didn't seem to be following his script this week.

"That it?"

Daisya shrugged.

"I guess so."

Kanda turned around again.

"Wait–"

"What?"

There was an edge in Kanda's voice as he turned around.

"You still hate me?"

Daisya's voice seemed to be deliberately light, but it hit Kanda like a mace.

—Had Daisya really bothered to remember that?

Kanda took a leaf out of his companion's book, and shrugged.

"No, not really."

He waved his hand forward, a signal of impatience.

"Come on."

…

Daisya was trying to see how far he could roll his eyes back into his head. They were walking back along the track, over turnstiles and thistles. Things were back to normal.

"You know," Daisya started, bringing his eyes back into focus, "There don't seem to be too many exorcists."

"There aren't," Kanda replied shortly.

"What a surprise. 'S there any way of making more?"

Daisya's tone of voice was too soft for the comment to be anything but deliberate.

"…no."

Kanda quickened his pace by fraction.

"That's a pity. So what do they do when they run out?"

"What does it matter?"

Daisya couldn't help but grin. Kanda was getting pretty easy to push around.

"Oh, just wondering. You got a bit cut up when I mentioned that I didn't mind shuffling off this mortal coil."

"What book did you get _that_ from?" Kanda asked dryly, avoiding the question.

"Forget. The old man used it once, I think. Did they ever _try_ to make more exorcists? It's not like there's anything else they can do."

There were a few moments filled with the sound of footsteps, and Daisya answered his own question.

"Well, if they tried, I'm pretty sure that it didn't work so well. So do they just find accommodators and force them to become exorcists? Lenalee was saying that one of the new guys has a sick kid he needs to take care of back at home."

Daisya waited for a reply, and rolled his eyes. Kanda just couldn't be bothered to share any useful information.

"God, you're noisy today. I guess they do that, then. Lenalee seems a bit scared of things, so maybe that happened to her. Or maybe you, I guess."

He mulled it over, trying to distract himself from the aches in his ankles. He'd done more walking in the past few months than he had in most of his life, and it wasn't too pleasant.

"Yeah, probably," he concluded, "So: you don't like it when people act all reckless, because if they did that means that there's going to be another kid ending up like you. That right?"

By this point he was just talking to himself. Kanda's silence was perhaps a better outcome than his participation.

"Well, I guess you've got a point. That explains why you keep saving everyone even after you say you're not going to."

He frowned in thought, then brightened up.

"How about I just try and do something really hard. Then I'll be ancient and I'll still be trying to do it, even though I'm awesome. Then I'll be too proud to die, and I don't have to put up with you yelling at me. How about that?"

He waited another few seconds for the show of it, but this time Kanda decided to speak.

"Fine."

Kanda sounded tired.

"Okay! Now I just need to decide on something."

"Whatever."

Daisya held a hands out open in front of him, and seemed to consider them.

"I can probably do anything alone if I want to, so it'll have to be something with other people."

He put down two fingers, and then a third.

"Hmm. Marie and Lenalee are pretty nice. They're too simple. The old man's too old. Maybe Kiki, or someone."

For some reason, he found this funny.

"Hah," he chuckled, "How about I try to get a date? That'll be fun, won't it, Kanda?"

"Just hurry up. And be quiet," Kanda added softly.

"I know, I know. I'm pretty cool, so that won't be too much of a challenge."

He paused, one-by-one putting down all his fingers, and curling his hands into fists. In reality, most of the monologue was for Kanda's benefit rather than his own.

He'd already decided what to do, what to say, and why. It was fairly simple.

"I think…" Daisya started, trailing off for effect.

"What?" Kanda asked flatly. He was getting angry again.

"I'm going to get you to tell me about Alma."

Daisya saw Kanda's flinch. There was no way in hell Kanda was ever going to tell him about that.

All the better reason to choose it.

"I'm not going to die until I know what happened. Otherwise I'll get pissed, because I really don't like not knowing things. That sound good?"

He waited for his answer, and the silence dragged on agonizingly before he got it. Kanda had a bit of a gift for it, holding silence above his head and watching him squirm before giving him even his usual one-word answer.

But, in a way, it felt pretty good. Kanda didn't mean anything by it. He didn't expect anything. He just hated indiscriminately, and without any real conviction.

"Fine."

The snippet of sound came forth at last.

"But you're going to die long before you find out anything. It's a stupid choice."

Daisya laughed.

"So long as you stop pestering me about it, that's fine."

"You too," Kanda muttered.

"You've got yourself a deal."

Daisya grinned to himself, and started to hum. His voice still hadn't changed yet from its mid-alto range, but he was growing fast enough for it to be low.

Truth be told, he wasn't really in this for the surviving. Life wasn't worth living if you were just carrying on and on and on and on. He was just going to keep trying to live so long as there was fun to be had. The old man, Kanda, Lenalee, Marie — he had an arsenal of tricks to develop. And a thousand football games to play.

He just didn't want to see the day when Kanda finally carried out his own prediction. This was just a tool to keep everything going as it had been. If Kanda knew he was going to survive anyway, he'd let him do what he wanted. Let him keep living with a foot in his grave.

They both knew he was going to die. Daisya was just pretty sure that when he died, it wasn't going to be with Kanda there watching him.

And truth be told, he did want to find out about Alma.

He had a feeling that the story wouldn't be boring.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell is this?
> 
> That, I do not know. As usual, please, please read and review. Anything short of straight-up flaming (to use 2009 internet slang) will be useful.

The usual sound of clinking cutlery and conversation rose over the main hall. For once, Daisya was working away at his lunch alone — he'd given up on finding Kanda after fifteen minutes of checking his usual haunts. On any normal day, he'd have been kicking Daisya's ass in the dojo all morning, but Jeanne had been the one doing it this morning, and she was off with Isaac right now. They were okay, but Daisya didn't know them too well.

At least there was no one to nag him about the stains on his sleeves. Daisya figured that they'd end up dirty anyway, so it wasn't worth keeping them out of the way. It must have been all Kanda's time with the old man that made him so much of a housewife about that stuff. He was 12 years old and he cleaned his room? Of his own free will? Daisya thanked his stars that he was still a kid, even after having to take care of his siblings.

Come to think of it, they'd all have had their birthdays by now. The old man would be telling him to send them another letter, never mind that he'd had to do it every two months since he'd left home. Dear family, Daisya here, having fun without you, and all that jazz. True enough, they were just as boring as always. His brothers had won the three-legged race at the yearly fair, his sister was still crying at every little thing, mom was begging him to come back, and dad was saying it'd been hard without him. Just trying to get back the unpaid babysitter — no thanks. Daisya wasn't about to go back to that any time soon.

Though, from how much his brothers were complaining about his sister, she might be showing some hope of being something interesting. When she learned to blame it on other people, that was when he might go back. And show her who was the _real_ champion here.

It was a testament to how zoned-out he was that he didn't notice the approaching footsteps. Everyone had a different rhythm. This one was quiet, but still firm. His razor-sharp reflexes only worked when he bothered to notice the world around him.

"Get up."

A shadow fell over Daisya, startling him. He groaned, to cover it up, and kept his eyes straight.

"Geez, can't a guy finish his soup in peace?"

Knowing Kanda was standing right behind him tugged at his mind like and itch, but Daisya wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of looking. Instead, he tried to down the rest of the meal in record time. Sooner or later, he was either going to have to get up, or be dragged away.

"Marie's team got back."

Kanda crossed his arms impatiently, and Daisya wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"That's disgusting."

"It's practical. Why're you asking me to go now? That old guy'll be sticking around for a while."

"Yeah?"

"O' course. Yeager likes him."

Kanda rolled his eyes.

"The old man told me to get you. We should see him now."

"Yeah, when I'm done my lunch."

Kanda looked aside absentmindedly. His movements got sharp and jerky when he was impatient.

"Aren't you bored? Lenalee's gone. No one else puts up with you."

"Nah, not really. I've just had to deal with you for a week or so, you know."

Kanda muttered something under his breath, and walked into view, taking the seat across from Daisya. Hah. Daisya, 1, Kanda, 0.

"Just hurry up, then."

"Yeah, yeah. What's the rush?"

Daisya scraped out the last spoonful, and looked up at Kanda.

"We'll get more out of him if we go now."

"And here you're still waiting for me."

Kanda looked genuinely confused for a moment, before frowning. He wasn't as quick as he seemed — you'd be better off telling Lenalee your puns

"So?"

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up. And don't spray your crumbs everywhere. That's disgusting."

"Yeah, _mom–_ ow!"

"Shut. Up."

…

Kanda scuffed his heel absentmindedly on the floor.

"So, did your team find Cross?"

Marie shook his head.

"No. He doesn't seem to like the Order much," he commented, "We still managed to assess the situation in Japan, though. The Noah are everywhere. It was best not to get involved."

"Mm."

Kanda nodded. He seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the conversation. Hey, maybe even Kanda could be respectful, couldn't he? Probably just to Marie, though. He certainly didn't treat old Tiedoll with much.

"Was General Nine there? Komui was saying she got called in."

Daisya noticed that Kanda's fingers were folding over and over on themselves. Now this _was_ interesting. Marie hadn't been around much since they got back from Hungary a year or so ago, and back then Daisya hadn't known either of them well enough to pay attention.

"Yes. She isn't needed yet, but she's staying there in case the Earl tries to make a move."

Kanda let out a sound that was almost a chuckle.

"So is she really good at fighting, or something?" Daisya asked, butting into the conversation, "I thought the generals just had high sync rates, or something."

Kanda let out a sigh of annoyance, and looked to Marie.

"The better your sync rate, the better you fight," Marie said shortly, "Because her Innocence is sentient, General Nine is likely the most skilled of the Generals."

"Oh. Cool."

"In any case, we are prepared for the worst. It's difficult to enter or leave Japan, making it the ideal stronghold."

Kanda nodded.

"But he hasn't moved yet?"

"No."

He nodded again, almost to himself, and once to Marie. This was the — happy wasn't really the word, but Daisya couldn't be bothered to find an alternative — the happiest Kanda had been in months.

"Good."

Kanda turned to leave, and dragged Daisya behind him by the collar.

"Hey!"

"Be quiet!"

…

"What was that for?" Daisya hissed, "I wasn't even talking."

"He's tired."

They skittered back down the stairs, to the lower levels, Kanda in the lead.

"What was the hurry to see him then? Better to let him sleep, or something."

"People don't control themselves as much when they're tired," stated Kanda bluntly, "He told us more now than he would have later."

"Just asking," muttered Daisya.

"Tch."

Kanda's pace slowed for a moment, once they reached ground level, before he started dawdling towards the training rooms. He didn't seem to sure about it, though, so Daisya figured he might be open to suggestion.

"Hey, you want to play football or something? I'll go easy on you."

Kanda's fingers clenched ever so slightly. Hey, there was always hope.

Daisya watched carefully.

Kanda lifted a hand, and brushed his bangs aside.

"You don't have to go easy," he said tersely, "I'll beat you anyway."

…

"Hah," Daisya panted, collapsing against the wall, "That was pretty good, don't you think?"

Kanda shrugged and scowled as he caught his breath more quietly.

"Not really."

"Oh, come on! You actually made me break a sweat, this time. Maybe one day you'll be able to tie it up."

Kanda scowled again, and shook his head in annoyance.

"See? You know you like it. It's a good game."

"Maybe for an imbecile."

"Yup."

Daisya picked up his discarded coat — though this most recent version was more of a cloak, long, with a hood and no sleeves — and rummaged through it to find the pockets.

"Hmm. If I was a pocket, where would I be…" he mumbled, partly to fill the silence, "Ah, here."

He grabbed the drawstring bag that followed him everywhere, and emptied a couple of white tablets into his hand. He hadn't felt too much pain in a while, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Shouldn't you have healed by now?" asked Kanda, watching him carefully.

Daisya raised an eyebrow. _That_ was new.

"You wanna have another look? It's still pretty ugly-looking, let me tell you. It hasn't changed."

There was a moment where they both hovered, balancing on each side of an argument, before the ball fell in Daisya's court.

"If you say so," muttered Kanda, "Are you practicing your fighting?"

Daisya let Kanda change the topic, and nodded his head.

"Yeah, _mom_."

Kanda glared at him.

"Do you _want_ me to go back to training you?"

"No, no, I'm good. Perfectly fine."

"Then shut up."

"You asked."

"Yeah, and now I'm asking you to be quiet."

Kanda paused for a few seconds.

"I did ask, I guess," he said grudgingly.

Daisya leaned back, and grinned. The patch of ground where the goals were was south-facing, so the brick wall was always warm.

The warm feeling was suspiciously strong today, so he decided to get out of there.

He leaned over, gave Kanda a quick kiss on the cheek, and ran off. Kanda hadn't caught him yet, and Daisya was pretty confident that he'd have to sharpen his reflexes before he even got close.

…

This time, Kanda reached out with open fingers instead of a closed fist.

He'd felt this twisting in his chest before.

Too late.

He let his fingers brush the air where Daisya's wrist had been a fraction of a second ago.

Damn kid ran too fast.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this'll be the last of the 'laying railroad tracks under feet as i run along' section - though just about all of this is pre-typed, the two or so stories after this are more fleshed out (in my head at least). This entire arc (it'll probably just be this chapter and the next) came about purely because I was listening to one song by (I think?) Two Steps From Hell and had a scene very vividly imagined to it. Unfortunately that scene was the equivalent of like 5 minutes of real-story-time. Oh well. The rest is all just extraneous nonsense, as usual.
> 
> Thanks so much (again and again) to the reviewers! I know I tend to passive-aggressively ask for feedback, but it is really incredibly useful to know how each chapter comes across.
> 
> The song Daisya sings is just a folk song I learned when I was a kid, which I decided to work in because I love it and this entire fic is just one bit work of self-indulgence. It can be slow or fast, haunting or lively. This one is a good version (type in youtube, then put /watch?v=ZXAi8BL4BYU)
> 
> Anyhow, here we go.

"Got anything yet?" Daisya asked, tapping his feet on the ground. He felt a bit smug about it — the chairs were high, but his growth spurt had come quicker to him than to most kids his age. Kanda's feet still dangled above the ground even on the short benches at Headquarters.

The finder fiddling with the telephone contraption — was it Marina? Marietta? Something Italian, anyhow — shook her head. She didn't look too interesting. Most of the finders didn't, and they all more or less looked the same. Not too tall, either stringy or plump, and nervous. They hunched over a bit, and shook, like the trees in the rocks at home whenever a breeze blew up. Kanda was saying that they did kick the bucket pretty quickly after joining up, so he couldn't blame them.

"Not yet—"

Maria's — that was her name — hand jumped slightly as the line crackled.

They sat by the telephone in the corner, Maria hunched over to fiddle with the dials. Golems were sometimes unreliable, depending on how close they were to their owners, so the Order had been trying out different ways of communication between teams. So far, this seemed to be the best. A golem was kept on the Order's end of the line, repeating data, so that whenever any exorcist called they'd get a quick update.

Gingerly, Maria held the phone up to her ear, and listened for the words hidden under all the static. Daisya also cocked an ear, as the sound filtered out.

"Croatia team…three more akuma spotted. Bulgaria team…possibility of Noah activity. Act with caution. Bosnia team…no change. Bohemia…"

The finder hung up the phone. Daisya might have expected her to be relieved, what with nothing much happening on their mission, but instead her face was drawn as ever. On the trip over here, she'd mostly kept to herself. Daisya guessed that she'd been here longer than most, like Marie.

"There's nothing," she said quietly, "But I suppose you heard that. If we can get this over with quickly, we can get to Bulgaria in a few days for backup."

She pulled a chair out from the table, both worn grey by years of use. The innkeeper seemed to like that colour enough to leave most of the furnishings that way. The walls were wooden planking and stone blocks, and the floor was shale and leftover planking over soil. Good old grey. You couldn't find a more boring colour if you tried.

"Yeah, yeah," Daisya said, speaking around a mouthful of bread, "You got a friend there?"

He started to tap the edge of the table, sticking one finger out to tap, then folding it in and moving to the next one. He seemed to be more concentrated on that than on the conversation.

Maria's eyes narrowed by a fraction of an inch.

"Why are you asking?"

Daisya shrugged, and swallowed hurriedly. Maria was now giving off the same aura Marie did when he was annoyed. Which wasn't as often as Kanda, but definitely worse.

"Dunno. You don't seem to be having fun."

Maria tore herself a chunk off of the loaf in the centre of the table.

"Really."

…

The day was bright, and mercifully free of revolutionary gunshots. They'd run into a skirmish between Slavic nationalists and some sort of military force a few days back — they hadn't stuck around long enough to find out who. Could've been the Germans, could've been the Magyars, could've been any number of Ottomans. He'd been considering signing up the army back home, when he was old enough, but now he'd found the Black Order. The old man was better than come crusty major, and a bell was better than a rifle.

Was that what Maria had thought when she joined up? Probably no one knew. _She_ certainly wouldn't have said much about it.

Daisya took his opportunity to fill the silence with sound. Maria didn't talk much, but she didn't seem to mind noise.

The trees were tangled with bushes on either side of the path, and the sun hung straight overhead, blazing a halo around itself. It put Daisya in mind of the bell on the end of his hood.

It was too late in the year for birdsong, and so Daisya made his own contribution. The song Jeanne had taught him came out in a low alto, stumbling here and there.

"V'la l'bon vent, v'la l'joli vent, v'la l'bon vent, mamie m'appelle, v'la l'bon vent, v'la l'joli vent, v'la l'bon vent, mamie m'attend…"

The song hopped along under his breath as he crushed dry leaves beneath his boots.

Y'know, he sort of missed the other exorcists. Finders were all right, but they were all the same, and they only lasted a few months, apparently. Boring. All the exorcists had survived way too much to be boring.

The old man hadn't been back in a while, either.

"…trois beaux canards s'en vont baignant…"

Actually, it had been just him, and Kanda, and Lenalee ever since they'd got back from Poland. Though, Marie and the old man were back now from the Asian Branch, so they'd be around a lot more.

The wind had shifted now, blowing warmer though the forest and picking up the red-and-gold leaves. The warmth of summer was fading fast.

He felt really…hungry when there was just another scaredy finder. He wanted something other than the weak, watery tension of awkwardness and anxiety.

Eh, whatever. At least he was having fun.

He breathed in sharply, then out. Yeah, he felt hungry, but he still felt something burning, without any pain. The pills were great for that. Mostly. Kanda's training sessions still packed a punch, but the painkillers took away any distractions. The thing burning wasn't on his skin.

Sun and moon above, bell below, flames in between.

He loved it like this.

"…oh fils du roi, tu es méchant d'avoir tué mon canard blanc…"

…

"I think we might want hurry up," Maria said softly, holding the golem above her shoulder, "They called in the Croatia team for reinforcements."

Daisya stopped humming, and turned back to look. Still the same expression as always. The forest had shifted slightly, fading into mixed evergreens and oak.

"Who's that again?"

"Hansi. And one of the twins."

Daisya whistled, and grinned sardonically.

"Well, they're all going to be useless against a Noah, anyway. The old man says even _he_ can barely handle them."

Maria's slow and measured pace had sped up, taking her past Daisya.

"Yes. That's why we need to hurry."

Daisya planted a foot carefully in a stack of dried leaves near the roadside, relishing in the crunching noise they made before catching up.

"And you've got a friend over there, haven't you?"

Maria decided to return the shot this time. She seemed to be getting fed up. They all did, after a while.

"I believe you also have one in the Croatia team. You should be concerned."

Daisya frowned slightly, and kicked a pebble up the road. Ew. There were more evergreens up ahead, and the bright colours were fading. Then he grinned.

"You mean Kanda?" he asked, "Nah, he's way too annoying. And he's stuck up."

"Mm."

Maria managed to convey annoyance, weariness, and doubt in a single sound. She really was a lot like Marie. When she got fed up, at least.

"We should get going."

Daisya nodded absently,

"O-kay– hey, wait up!"

Maria lengthened her strides yet again, leaving Daisya in her wake. Damn adults. Their legs were far too long.

Daisya took a breath of the air that still smelled of dead leaves, and started to run. He'd played enough soccer to keep up a good run. Maria was not going to win this round of pettiness, at least.

Though maybe he was just looking for something to fight against.

He worked his way past her into a slow jogging rhythm, keeping ahead of Maria, but mimicking her pace.

Yeah, it had been a while since he'd had much fun. Boring old Marie was miles above most finders when it came to fun. He taught them all useful things, and played music, and got fed up waaay more easily now that he knew Daisya for a brat. Maria was okay, though. She was starting to lose patience after only a couple of weeks.

Even the Innocence was boring. It didn't even put up a fight. Well, sure, the ghost had been a bit tetchy, but compared to Kanda it was a walk in the park to convince him of something. The akuma were what made things interesting.

It might have been just him, but the frail branches of the trees seemed to be clawing at the sky now. Ooh. Really menacing.

Suddenly, Daisya skidded to a halt. Maria. It would be rude to leave her behind.

Quickly, he doubled back to her side, averting his eyes from the road forward. It was getting colder, and the wind was blowing against them.

Funny. Why'd he do that?

He skipped to a halt, facing her, and started to trot backwards.

"Come _on_ ," he said, "Didn't you say we should hurry?"

"We are hurrying," replied Maria, impassive. "Don't worry, I'll be fine even without a brat watching me."

Hey, that was rude! That settled it. If she was going to be in a bad mood, Daisya wasn't they guy to stop her by force.

He ran back ahead along the dirt path, watching the trees grow darker and sharper against the bright blue sky. He hated when the old man stopped just to draw something or say it was pretty, but this was beautiful, but it was sort of nice. He liked the more jagged shapes of conifers, even if they didn't have the lovely leaves of normal trees.

Something compelled him to pause. There was a nice pile of leaves beside the road. He should go crunch them.

Quickly, he looked over, nearly stumbling over a root as he did.

No leaves.

Daisya stood stock still, shivering slightly as the cool headwind leached the warmth from him. Not cool. Bitingly cold.

What leaves?

Up ahead, the forest closed over the path, blocking out the sun.

Why had he stopped?

Maria. Shouldn't leave her behind.

He ran back again, dragging his feet over the earth, and felt something lift off of his shoulders.

Yes, that was right. He should go back. Should just go home.

He stopped again, and tried to turn his head back to look at the path, but a gust of wind stung his cheek as he did.

Why was he feeling homesick now? He hadn't thought about it in months. Apart from a letter every two months, he had nothing to do with it.

Suddenly, the sky seemed to brighten, and the wind died down.

Innocence. That was it.

He came to a halt, and turned back forward again to fall in step with Maria.

"You are energetic," she said flatly, "Are you that worried about your friend?"

Daisya grumbled something under his breath — in Turkish, not anything Maria would know — then spoke up.

"Just give it a couple of seconds."

"Give what a couple of seconds?" Maria asked, looking down at him with a new expression.

Daisya felt his feet grow heavy, dragging him down.

"That."

They both stopped, and now that Daisya noticed it, he felt a weight in his chest.

Not just the feeling of being tired of being beaten by Kanda for the umpteenth time (he swore someday he'd beat him, just like Lenalee had). Something dumb and emotional.

The sun dimmed, and they sky turned the dull grey-white of a day neither sunny nor rainy. Not one thing nor the other, just plain and heavy. Grey trees, grey earth, grey skies, grey stone.

Daisya wanted to go home. He missed his family. He missed the bright blue ocean. He missed the trees. Those damn, pathetic, drought-stricken trees. His stupid brothers, and whiny sister. The stupid tourist trinkets, the gewgaws in all their colours.

He—

A breath caught in his throat, and stayed there.

He _hated_ that place.

Maria turned around, walked back, and Daisya _chose_ to lift one foot, plant it behind him, turn, and follow.

"Hey, Maria, why'd you stop?" he asked mockingly, tugging at her coat, "Didn't you want to help out?"

Maria paused for a second time, and looked down at him.

"So you weren't actually that excited," she said dryly, "Something made you."

"Yeah," Daisya continued, "That's what I thought. D'you think it's Innocence?"

Maria's eyes narrowed, as they did when she was thinking.

"There's nothing else it could be, besides a Noah."

"Then how're you sure it's not a Noah? What do they even do, anyway?"

Daisya placed his hands on his hips, and tapped his foot in mock impatience.

"It's simple," replied Maria, "If it are a Noah, we would be dead."

"That's depressing."

"That's irrelevant. You should try activating your Innocence. It should grant you some sort of immunity. At the very least, it will be insurance against akuma."

Daisya gave her a mock salute.

"Yep. Give me a second."

He whipped around in a circle, letting the force of the motion rip the Charity Bell from his hood.

"Innocence, activate!"

The trees looked fairly calm in the autumn afternoon, and Daisya took mental stock.

Randomized guilt: 5% of maximum

Homesickness: 0.8% of maximum

Regret: 1% of maximum

Sense of Duty: 0.9% of maximum

He started to jog, letting the bell hop from foot to foot. Say what you will, it's always time for football practice.

Towards the barrier, he noticed the trees start to shift again. Definitely Innocence. It got into your mind, and worked you from the inside out.

Time to jump. What with dodging Lenalee in training, he'd had plenty of experience with those.

A few seconds later, a leap landed him far over the invisible boundary. Already, it felt as if something was pushing him backwards.

Randomized guilt: 12% and rising

Homesickness: 10% and rising

Regret: 9% and rising

Sense of Duty: 6% and rising

But there was no way he was going to go back.

"Hey, looks like it's working!" he shouted back to Maria, still standing there in her canvas cloak.

He saw her nod.

"Find the Innocence," she called calmly in reply, "I'll watch for akuma."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she called impatiently, "Now hurry up!"

"All right, all right."

Daisya turned around, and faced the path. The Innocence could be anywhere.

He grinned. Now _this_ was fun.

He took a breath, and slowly, deliberately started to run against the ever-growing wind.

…

The sky had become mostly violet, fading to yellow, when Daisya's footsteps started to drag.

Finding the Innocence was harder that it looked, because you had to go the direction that you didn't want to go, and that took effort. The more your feet felt heavy, the more you had to push on. The Innocence must have been really strong, to have this much of an effect.

And to make it worse, Daisya wasn't even sure that things worked properly in here. He hadn't heard any of he birds that hopped along in the trees, or seen the squirrels that liked to steal any food they could get their hands on. Even the trees seemed to be running out. It felt more like home, now, with a hard, rocky soil and a few bushes.

Daisya took a heavy breath, and stopped. He felt like he was at another crossroads, so he started to turn around clockwise, gauging how much he wanted to walk in a direction against the instantaneous feeling of randomized guilt.

What directions were there?

The forest felt inviting, as did the plains going off to the north.

So Daisya turned, and stopped turning as he faced a rocky uprising in the landscape.

It looked like someone had just randomly decided to drop a mountain range on the map. A bunch of rocks were piled up near the front, forming a sort of wall with only a few cracks through it. It did _not_ look like a nice place to visit.

Obviously, it was the place to go. Daisya just wanted to grab the Innocence, and get this over with.

…

The last of the akuma fell in shreds.

"Looks like we weren't the first ones here," the finder muttered. "Do you want to have a look at this?"

The forest was starting to grow darker as the sun set, but Kanda hadn't bothered to stop walking. This finder was lazy, but there was a town about half an hour away, where they could rest.

Until then, they had work to do.

He sighed, sheathed Mugen, and walked to where the finder was standing, above a pile of equipment, the standard-issue canvas cloak given to finders, and a pile of dust.

"Do you think they were already on this mission?" the finder asked nervously. He was still a kid, and a coward to be taking orders from a child years his junior.

"Doesn't look like it. There were two or three exorcists on the Bulgaria team, and they should be days away from here."

Kanda had already drawn his conclusion as to the identity of the dust, but he couldn't decide what to do with it yet.

"Maybe they were also reinforcements? Didn't the Bosnia team say they'd be heading over once they'd finished? They might still have been here."

Kanda had already started to look around. His eyesight was pretty good, but it was dark, and there was no sign of any human life. Or a specific human life, for that matter.

"Yeah, but where's the exorcist?" he retorted. "They last longer than finders."

Damn. They couldn't afford to get sidetracked, but you couldn't trust Daisya as far as you could throw him, when it came to acting smart.

The finder shrugged.

"Maybe he just ran off."

"Wrong."

"Well, I don't know–"

"I do. He's somewhere around here. Probably not far."

The wind rustled the fallen leaves of autumn, and the ink-black spruce reaching up above them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

"Why did you leave?"

Daisya couldn't for the life of him remember how he came to be standing in front of his little sister.

He had walked in through the crack, trying to get past the rocks, when the sky had turned silver. Even now, it was shining like a mirror. There was something holding him back, freezing him in place, but not something static. It was a wind that blew around him, somehow hemming him in from all directions and whipping at his bandages. Now, they wove in the air around him like snakes, half covering his eyes and his ears as he held the Charity Bell in one hand and fixed the other one around his wrist. He couldn't let go. He could not let go.

"Why?"

Daisya didn't look down at her. His hood had blown off, and the tail of it was flapping behind him. They'd nearly taken his Charity Bell.

His sister tugged at his cloak, and looked up at him with a tearful expression. A few feet off, their mother stood with arms crossed and a disapproving expression on her face.

"You should come back home."

He'd worked his way through the forest, testing the Innocence. Each direction seemed to hold a different potential; every time he'd chosen his path, the mountains had been the ones that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made him stop in his track. So of course he'd slowly made his way towards them, zigzagging through the forest, then over a small field to the base of this foothill.

"You don't know what happened to us," his brothers piped up, "We nearly starved."

They spoke in perfect unison. He didn't know where they came from, either. His heart was starting to beat faster again, tugging him away from them.

There was a small cleft in the hillside, covered by rock. When Daisya had ducked under to look, the ground had given way, dropping him under. When he'd hit the rock beneath, he'd tumbled forward, and staggered out into an opening. From above, the light came though, and hit flat grey stone cut through by a creek. Opposite Daisya, a silver tree stretched out of the bare rock.

He couldn't remember much after that.

Another tug on his cloak made him stagger back, and then it was Lenalee standing there.

"Why did you abandon your family?" she asked, "Did you like us better?"

No, no, that wasn't it—

Kanda, standing behind her, glowered at Daisya.

"Don't bother answering. You can't stay here.

"Now, they both seemed to speak with the same voice.

We don't like you."

Hah, was all Daisya could think. I could've told you that.

The images shifted before his eyes. Marie, then the old man, then someone tall whose face he couldn't make out. They writhed, and collapsed.

"Please, come back home."

Daisya's father spoke last, and wearily, as if disappointed.

There was something wrong here, Daisya thought through the haze. Something wrong. But what was it?

His mother, his father, his sister…they were all normal. His brothers, too. And who knew what Lenalee thought?

Something was wrong, something was wrong.

"Don't bother staying…"

"Please, come back."

"Go home."

"Come home."

Daisya was standing in the middle of the forest. There was nothing but forest for miles, around here.

But when Kanda ran close enough to him, the landscape warped.

Daisya was clutching his Innocence in his hands, and staring up at the mountains and a silver sky. His bandages hung in the air around him, as if blown by an intangible storm.

Beneath them, the scars knit together to form a mottled pattern, evidence of the coals that scorched there.

Kanda tried to take a step.

He was frozen to the ground.

"Go home.

"Go home.

"Please come home.

"Don't stay."

The cacophony of voices was deafening, and Daisya couldn't do anything but stare at the seven figures crowding him, closing in on him as the wind whipped a storm around his head.

Louder than everything was the voice of his sister.

"Why did you leave us? Come home…"

And beneath it, another litany took precedence.

"Don't stay with us. Go home."

Kanda.

There was something wrong.

Why was Kanda saying that?

The storm grew louder, but at the same time gave Daisya a window of quietude to think in.

Quick — what's wrong with Kanda?

What do we know about Kanda?

Kanda. Short. Pretty. Likes his hair tie. Likes Marie. Likes Lenalee.

Kanda couldn't care less if the finders died.

Kanda cares if the exorcists die.

Kanda doesn't care about people, but he doesn't want the exorcists to die.

He's weird like that. He's a big old meanie, but he wants the exorcists alive and working.

Hurry up — what about me?

Kanda said he wasn't going to save me.

Kanda said he'd kill me if I was going to die.

Kanda wants the exorcists alive.

_Kanda…_

…

For a single moment, time unfroze, and Kanda could move again. The dream had faltered.

That was all he needed.

" _Mugen, unsheath!_ "

…

Daisya fell to his knees as the noise redoubled, clapping his hands over his ears at the pain that drilled into his head.

I should go home. I don't belong, I need to go home. Go home. _I want to go home…_

Something screamed though the air, and Daisya's head jerked up as if pulled by a string.

Through his blurry vision and shaking breaths, he could see something ripping through the seven spectres.

The mirror broke, and the sky shattered in pieces.

Black started to swoop over Daisya, leaving him time for one last thought.

_I hate that place._

…

Kanda's feet scrabbled across the rock as he slid, grabbing the front Daisya's collar before he redoubled his speed, dragging the body out of the pile of debris slowly building up around him. After a moment's struggle, he swung up and over his shoulders in a fireman's lift. The entrance to this open cavern was blocked, but it gave way when Kanda, turning a shoulder forwards, rammed through it. Shards of stone scratched at his face, and dust burned his eyes. Daisya would be coming out of this a bit worse for wear, though his own wounds would heal quickly.

Emerging from the tunnel, the landscape Kanda remembered had changed in the time they'd been trapped. The hills that had gradually sloped upwards crumbled, some leaving a narrow path, some falling into the bubbling current of the deep-cut river that seemed to underscore the plain. He'd heard of Innocence protecting himself but - but nothing like this. Now that they'd escaped, it should have quieted down.

Instead–

The feeling of weightlessness his Kanda like a punch between the ribs. Beneath his feet, the earth crumbled and gave way, giving him just a few seconds to jump out of the way.

He could survive this, easy, if he was alone. But with a hundred-pound weight — strike that, hundred and five — on his back, the chances of them both getting out unscathed were smaller. Dragging Marie around was fine on flat ground at a walk, but even a light burden like Daisya would slow him down with these stakes.

He caught his footing again, and his muscles kicked into action. If he kept his momentum up, it would give just a few extra seconds of lift to his jumps.

He'd need them.

–it was trying to kill them.

…

Kanda's limbs burned as he ran, trying to outpace the crumbling rock.

In the few seconds of thought he could spare, he wondered if it was this was enough to keep away the finders, and to generate the illusion of flat ground around both him and Daisya, while still leading them along the narrow strips of solid ground.

This could also be an illusion. No, it was an illusion. Something like this would have eroded the ground to nothing ages ago, drawing together to make a single river.

Probably.

Kanda didn't want to risk it.

He leapt sideways as another crack started to open up beneath his feet. Daisya _had_ to be stone cold passed out right now, didn't he? Why couldn't it be just one of his pranks?

And he just had to be the one to try and do this alone in the first place.

Daisya was a problem.

He looked ahead, and tried to figure out the fastest route back to where he came from. He thought he'd remember the path, but now he was less sure. He could swing right, and head diagonally through the grasslands and into the forest, towards the road. That was fastest, if this was actually the landscape he remembered. If this was an illusion, then he was fucked either way.

A few pebbles slid beneath his feet, and he skidded along the grass, jumping off to avoid tripping. He landed heavily on his right foot, and pushed off to skirt a hole that had opened up beneath him.

After the half-hour of running through this changing maze, he didn't know how much more he could take. If Daisya didn't wake up soon…

And this wasn't Innocence activity, he'd decided. This was something twisted. Maybe the Heart, but maybe something else. Something like what the General had described to him back in Hungary.

Noah.

If that were the case, he was as good as dead. The Daisya he was carrying might not even be Daisya. The Noah might be anywhere, doing anything, being anything. He would be insignificant. The Innocence would have been a trap, if there even was one.

Sweat dripped down his hairline, and he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and slow his pulse.

That was a mistake.

Willing himself back into a run, he glanced around him. To his left, the grassland stretched on for a bit before meeting the trees; to the right, the forest was closer, maybe ten minutes' run away, at most.

The trees, at least, would be a change of scene.

He turned right sharply, and tried to forget the pain.

At his shoulder, a pair of eyes blinked open.

…

It took a minute for Daisya to fully wake up, and when he did, he wished he hadn't. It felt like he was in an old farm cart jolting over as many potholes as the driver could find.

He shut his eyes tight, then opened them again, looking around. Or looking at ground. Same thing, basically. Something was carrying him. And, if his senses were all intact, that something was a human. Someone's bony shoulder was poking into his chest, and one arm each (those were bony, too) hooked around his knee and elbow kept him from falling off.

Daisya's heart nearly stopped when a crevasse split the ground beneath them.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who reacted quickly. His carrier had stumbled for a moment, but managed to get a grip on the air. They leapt over it easily, recovering his footing even with the extra weight on his shoulders. They were fast. Fast, bony…come to think of it, the ground seemed to be a little close as well. Short. Whoever it was had to be stronger than any normal human.

Which meant…

"Kanda?"

His carrier skidded for a moment, knocking the breath out of Daisya, before balancing and continuing the pace.

"What is it?" Kanda shouted through gritted teeth. Man, he seemed angry.

Then again, he was running from a really powerful illusion-creating, reality-warping thingamajig of divine origin. With Daisya on his back. He had some reason.

"Can you put me down?"

"Only if I don't stop running."

Daisya thought for a moment, and tried to gauge his own balancing skills.

"Tell you what, could you hold on to my right wrist with your left hand when I count to three?"

"What–"

"I'll have to step on your right shoulder a bit, but I think I'll be fine. Okay, one, two, three…"

Daisya heaved himself up, planted his foot on Kanda's shoulder, and leapt off him in the space of a second. He was quite proud of the manoeuvre himself. Kanda's grip on his wrist pulled him forwards, and he hit the ground running.

"I hate you," Kanda muttered.

"Oh, that's mean," Daisya retorted, laughing. "Do you know what happened? I can't remember much."

"No. Just shut up. This probably isn't even real, but I'm not taking a chance."

Man, Kanda was angry. Not even happy angry. Just angry.

_"You don't belong…"_

The crowbar of recognition pried open the door of fatigue, and Daisya stumbled.

What had happened? Why had some Innocence been able to do something that powerful?

Something about it felt like the town back in Hungary.

"Daisya, hurry up!"

Kanda tugged at Daisya's wrist as they passed into the forest. The tamping sound of shoes on soil and dry grass was replaced by crunching leaves and snapping branches.

A cut landed on Daisya's cheek, narrowly missing his eyes.

"Kanda! I think I remember what happened," he shouted against the wind that had whipped up around them.

"What? Is that important right now?"

"Yeah, I think–"

Daisya's reply cut off as the ground disappeared beneath their feet.

In midair, time seemed to stop. So there _had_ been a bit of a canyon, where the river dropped down to run along the side of the forest.

Daisya barely had time to think, even so.

" _Innocence, activate!_ "

The Charity Bell flew through the air, and this side of the rock bluff started to crumble, falling and turning first to sand, then to dust.

…

Kanda just enough time to react.

They were falling. A din was ringing out in his ears, but he could just make out the collapse of the cliffside, and the oddly neutral expression on Daisya's face. Not a grin, but just a slight frown, as if in concentration. He seemed to be staring past Kanda, not even noticing him.

Funny. Normally Daisya seemed to laugh in the face of—

—danger.

Daisya had tightened his grip, and beneath Kanda, had almost protectively curled around him.

It took a second for his reflexes to kick in, but there was still time.

He pulled Daisya in, reversing their position, and hit the ground first.

The loose dirt was softer than rock; still, it was more than enough to splinter his ribs.

But Daisya didn't need to know that.

…

Some hours later, a girl of about twelve hopped along the bluff, skirted the Innocence she'd hidden, and the corners of her mouth turned down.

"Aw," she whined, wringing her hands around her umbrella, "Don't tell me someone else got here first."

"Well, I don't think it was the circus," the umbrella answered anxiously, "But, uh, you never know."

The girl looked even more disappointed than before.

"No, you're probably right."

She started swinging the umbrella around in circles.

"And now Tyki's going to be all smug about my traps not working. That really sucks."

"Yes, mistress, very much."

The girl skipped, despite her downcast face, and hummed a tune that scraped across the nerves like the bow of a violin.

…

"No."

Daisya's hand froze, about to knock on Kanda's door.

"Just wondering if you were doin' anything," he muttered, "And how'd you know it was me?"

"One, you make too much noise, two, you're one of about five people who come up here to bother me, and three, you're the only one with that accent."

Daisya leaned against the door, and tapped his fingers on it.

"Yeah, whatever," he said softly, "Well? You doing anything or not?"

"What would I be doing?"

"Beats me. Playing solitaire?"

Daiysa heard a sigh of annoyance, and promptly fell over as the door opened into him.

"What were you _doing_?"

Daisya winced, and looked up into Kanda's sullen face. He'd already closed the door behind him, but Daisya was prepared to bet money that there was a game of solitaire underway inside the room.

"I was just standing there. Got a problem?"

"Yeah."

"And that is?"

"You were standing there."

Daisya pulled himself to his feet.

"Sor-ry. Hey, you look pretty good, considering you just fell off a cliff."

"It was nine metres. I'm not that weak."

Kanda's eyes were shifting sideways. He wasn't feeling too well. Hell, he hadn't even tried to blame it on Daisya.

Now was probably a bad time to bother him, then, if Daisya wanted to come out of this without any unnecessary pain.

"Well, thanks, anyway," he said simply.

Kanda looked at him suspiciously.

"For, uh, taking the fall. As it were. I've got some painkillers if you want them."

Daisya opened his hand and held it out, showing a small glass vial of tablets.

Kanda just looked blank.

Man, he was acting really weirdly.

"I'm starving, so see ya later."

Daisya tossed the vial to Kanda, who caught it reflexively, and turned to walk away.

"Daisya–"

The shred of sound caused Daisya to whip back around. He was more tense than he should be. Heck, even his heart rate was going up. Kanda was pretty scary.

He was just lying to himself by now, and he knew it.

"What?"

"Your shoes are covered in mud. Quit tracking it all over the place."

Daisya grinned.

"Have fun cleaning it up."

He didn't see the look of indignant rage on Kanda's face, having turned to run before Kanda could retaliate.

Even if he hadn't turned, he wouldn't have seen it.

It wasn't there.

Kanda's fingers closed around the vial, hard enough to make his knuckles whiten.

That damn Daisya.

Why did he always try to have the last word?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this part ended on a convenient chapter number, so I'm just about caught up to the version I have posted on ff.net with today's posting spree. Stay tuned for more nonsense on an irregular update schedule, the three of you that read this.


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